m 




r- ! 



W&&M- 















ri vf3 

3S3 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/zigzagstoriesofhOObutt 



ZIGZAG STORIES 




A FRIGHTENED CAPTAIN. 



ZIGZAG STORIES 



OF 



fetor?, CrafocL, and Stofcenture 



SELECTIONS OF THE BEST STORIES FROM 
THE ZIGZAG SERIES 



BY 
a/ 

HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH 



ILLUSTRATED 



BOSTON 
ESTES AND LAURIAT 

PUBLISHERS 



\VYjO^>o -^~ X 






Copyright, 1896, 
By Estes and Lauriat. 



SRmtoersitg Press: 
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 



CONTENTS. 



Pagk 

The Harmony Chime 1 

The Bell-Founder of Breslau 8 

A Frightened Captain 11 

The Legend of Marguerite and the Isle of Demons . . . 16 

Just Once More 22 

The Ghost of Greylock 26 

The Flying Dutchman 40 

King Frederick and the Irish Giant 48 

The Message of Life 52 

A Strange Legend of the First Discoverer of the Missis- 
sippi 61 

• A Remarkable Discovery 07 

Aunt Heart Delight's Beau 70 

The Old House on Cambridge Common s l 

The Bell of Caughnawaga 93 

The Young Huguenot, or the Country Auctioneer .... 97 

Jerry Slack's Money-Pot 110 

The Two Brass Kettles 122 

Chased by a Prairie-Fire 132 

The Little Sioux's Warning ............. 139 

Little Mook 151 

The >'Doo-Lu Shad-Uee " . 156 

The Tiger-Hunter of Madras 163 

The Mad Jackal 171 

The Two Little Boys that were supposed to have become 

Two Little Bears 179 

The Baffled King 184 



vi CONTENTS. 

Page 

A Man who scared an Army 190 

Story of Siegfried and the Nibelung Heroes 199 

The Mysterious Architect 202 

Peter the Wild Boy 207 

The Old German Doctor who fell all to Pieces 212 

The Young Organist : A Mystery 223 

The Unnerved Hussar . 234 

The Forest Blacksmith 237 

A Komance of North Carolina . . 248 

The Indian Prophet . 254 

An Old Washington Ghost Story 257 

Three Balls of Yarn 265 

A Modern Samson, whose Hair grew again . 276 

An Escape from Pirates ...... 2S7 

The Mysterious Sack; ok, Two Bushels of Corn 293 

Captain Kidd's Treasure; or, The Man who said "Scat \" . 301 

A Romance that Lost an Empire 309 

A Strange Tale. — Monterey 313 

The Gourd Helmets 315 

An Unwelcome Shipmate 322 

The Massacre of Chicago . . 329 

A Sad Story of Peter the Great 339 

Old Ali Bedair's Story of Marathon 344 

Sir Francis Drake and his Ship of Gold 348 

The Golden Ship, and the Fair Brick House in Green Lane, 

Boston ....... 352 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Page 

A Frightened Captain Frontispiece 

Bell-Tower, Ghent 4 

The Isle of Demons 17 

The Ghost of Greylock . 35 

"A Strange Form appeared ox the Deck" 41 

The Irish Giant * . 50 

The Message of Life 57 

De Soto 62 

De Soto's Expedition in Florida - . 63 

De Soto seeing the Mississippi for the First Time .... 64 

Burial of De Soto 66 

The Spanish Cavalier 68 

Aunt Heart Delight's Beau 77 

Deacon* Moore's House 82 

The Old Church in Cambridge 88 

The Auction 98 

The Boy promises 104 

Jerry Slack Ill 

"A Message for Me!" 113 

The Message 117 

Jerry finds the Moxey-Pot 120 

The Cradock Maxsiox, Medford 125 

An Ixdiax alarmed 130 

The Indians drew near 136 

"Faster, faster, Boy!" 138 

"It isn't a Bird" 144 

Chit-to 147 

Little Mook 152 

'•The decided-on Amputation" 154 



viii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Page 

A " Doo-lu Shad-uee " .* . 158 

"The next moment I was knocked headlong" 160 

" I espied Two Flashing Orbs in the High Grass "..-.. 167 

The Two Bears brought into Court . 182 

The Bears recognizing the Goldsmith 183 

The Sacks of Wine leaking 185 

Leaving his Arm behind 187 

" The Son of the Mason appeared and explained the Secret" 189 

" On he rode, as fast as before, with the Tree in his Hand " 195 

The Murder of Siegfried 201 

The Mysterious Architect . . 205 

Peter the Wild Boy 208 

"The Maid had changed her Mind" 213 

" The Doctor en Deshabille " 214 

The Doctor followed by the Bear 218 

The Doctor chased by the Bear 219 

"'YOU HAVE DECEIVED Me ! ' SAID THE BRIDE " 221 

"'It does not sound,' said the Organ-Builder" 227 

" Francois seized it and opened it " 232 

The Unnerved Hussar 235 

Goffe, the Regicide, at Hadley 241 

The Province House ...» 303 

Montcalm 310 



ZIGZAG STORIES 

OF 

HISTORY, TRAVEL, AND ADVENTURE. 



THE HARMONY CHIME. 

Many years ago, in a large iron foundry in the city of Ghent, 
Mas found a young workman by the name of Otto Holstein. 
He was not nineteen years of age, hut none of the workmen 
could equal him in his special department, — hell-casting or 
moulding. Far and near the fame of Otto's bells extended. — 
the clearest and sweetest, people said, that were eyer heard. 

Of course the great establishment of Von Erlangen, in which 
Otto worked, got the credit of his labors ; but Von Erlangen 
and Otto himself knew very well to whom the superior tone of 
the bells was due. The master did not pay him' higher wages 
than the others, but by degrees he grew to be general super- 
intendent in his department in spite of his extreme youth. 

" Yes, my bells are good,"' he said to a friend one day, who 
was commenting upon their merits; "but they do not make the 
music I will yet strike from them. They ring alike for all 
things. To be sure, when they toll for a funeral the slow 
measure makes them seem mournful, but then the notes are 
really the same as in a wedding peal. I shall make a chime of 
bells that will sound at will every chord in the human soul." 

"Then wilt thou deal in magic," said his friend, laughing; 
"and the Holy Inquisition will have somewhat to do with thee. 
No human power can turn a bell into a musical instrument." 



2 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" But I can," he answered briefly ; " and, Inquisition or not, 
I will" do it." 

He turned abruptly from his friend and sauntered, lost in 
thought, down the narrow street which led to his home. It 
was an humble, red-tiled cottage, of only two rooms, that he 
had inherited from his grandfather. There he lived alone with 
his widowed mother. She was a mild, pleasant-faced woman, 
and her eyes brightened as her son bent his tall head under the 
low doorway, as he entered the little room. " Thou art late, 
Otto," she said, "-and in trouble, too," as she caught sight of 
his grave, sad face. 

" Yes," he answered. " When I asked Herr Erlangen for 
an increase of salary, for my work grows harder every day, he 
refused it. Nay, he told me if I was not satisfied, I could leave, 
for there were fifty men ready to take my place. Ready ! yes, 
I warrant they 're ready enough, but to be able is a different 
thing." 

His mother sighed deeply. 

" Thou wilt not leave Herr Erlangen's, surely. It is little 
we get, but it keeps us in food." 

"I must leave," he answered. " Nay, do not cry out, mother ! 
I have other plans, and thou wilt not starve. Monsieur Day- 
rolles, the rich Frenchman who lives in the Linden-Strasse, 
has often asked me why I do not set up a foundry of my own. 
Of course I laughed, — I, who never have a thaler to spend ; 
but he told me he and several other rich friends of his would 
advance the means to start me in business. He is a great deal 
of his time at Erlangen's, and is an enthusiast about fine bells. 
Ah! we are great friends, and I am going to him after supper." 

" People say he is crazy," said his mother. 

" Crazy ! " indignantly. " People say that of everybody who 
has ideas they can't understand. They say I am crazy when 
I talk of my chime of bells. If I stay with Erlangen, he gets 
the credit of my work ; but my chime must be mine, — mine 



THE HARMONY CHIME. 3 

alone, mother." His eves lighted with a kind of wild enthusi- 
asm whenever he talked on this subject. 

His mother's cheerful face grew sad, as she laid her hand on 
I lis shoulder. 

" Why, Otto, thou art not thyself when thou speakest of 
those bells." 

* k More my real self, mother, than at any other time ! " he 
cried. " I only truly live when I think of how my idea is to be 
carried out. It is to be my life's work; I know it, I feel it. 
It is upon me that my fate is woven inextricably in that ideal 
chime. It is God-sent. N< » great work, but the maker is pos- 
sessed wholly by it. Don't shake your head, mother. Wait 
till my ' Harmony Chime ' sounds from the great cathedral 
belfry, and then shake it if you can." 

His mother smiled faintly. 

>k Thou art a boy, — a mere child, Otto, though a wonderful 
genius, I must confess. Thy hopes delude thee, for it would 
take a lifetime to carry out thine idea." 

" Then let it take a lifetime ! " he cried out vehemently. 
" Let me accomplish it when I am too old to hear it distinctly, 
and I will be content that its first sounds toll my dirge. I 
must go now to Monsieur Dayrolles. Wish me good luck, 
dearest mother." And he stooped and kissed her tenderly. 

Otto did not fail. The strange old man in his visits to the 
foundry had noticed the germs of genius in the boy, and grown 
very fond of him. He was so frank, so honest, so devoted to 
his work, and had accomplished so much at his early age, that 
Monsieur Dayrolles saw a brilliant future before him. Besides, 
the old gentleman, with a Frenchman's vanity, felt that if the 
" Harmony Chime " could be made, the name of the munificent 
patron would go down to posterity with that of the maker. He 
believed firmly that the boy would some day accomplish his 
purpose. So, although the revolt of the Netherlands had be- 
gun and he was preparing to return to his own country, he 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



advanced the necessary funds, and saw Otto established in 
business before he quitted Ghent. 

In a very short time work poured in upon Otto. During 
that long and terrible war the manufacture of cannon alone 
made the fortunes of the workers in iron. So five years from 

the time he left 
Von Erlangen we 
find Otto Holstein 
a rich man at 
twenty -four years 
of age. But the 
idea for which he 
labored had never 
for a moment left 
his mind. Sleep- 
ing or waking, toil- 
ing or resting, his 
thoughts were busy 
perfecting the de- 
tails of the great 
work. 

" Thou art twenty- 
four to-day, Otto," 
said his good 
mother, "and rich 
beyond our hopes. 
When wilt thou 
bring Gertrude 
home to me ? Thou 
hast been betrothed 
now for three years, and I want a daughter to comfort my 
declining years. Thou doest thy betrothed maiden a grievous 
wrong to delay without cause. The gossips are talking already." 
"Let them talk," laughed Otto. "Little do Gertrude or I 




BELL-TOWER, GHENT. 



THE HARMONY CHIME. 5 

care for their silly tongues. Slie and I have agreed that the 
• Harmony Chime ' is to usher in our marriage-day. Why, good 
mother, no man can serve two mistresses, and my chime has 
the oldest claim. Let me accomplish it, and then the remainder 
of my life belongs to Gertrude, and thou, too, best of mothers." 

••Still that dream! still that dream!" sighed his mother. 
" Thou hast east bell after bell, and until to-day 1 have heard 
nothing more of the wild idea." 

" No, because I needed money- 1 needed time, and thought, 
too, to make experiments. All is matured now. I have re- 
ceived an order to make a new set of bells for the great cathe- 
dral that was sacked last week by the 'Iconoclasts,' and I begin 
to-morrow." 

As Otto had said, his life's work began the next day. He 
loved his mother, but he seemed now to forget her in the fever- 
ish eagerness with which he threw himself into his labors. He 
had been a devoted lover to Gertrude, but he now never had 
a spare moment to give to her, — in fact, he only seemed to 
remember her existence in conneetion with the peal which 
would ring in their wedding-day. His labors were prolonged 
far over the appointed time, and meanwhile the internal ' war 
raged more furiously, and the Netherlands were one vast battle- 
field. No interest did Otto seem to take in the stirring events 
around him. The bells held his whole existence captive. 

At last the moulds were broken, and the bells came out of 
their husks perfect in form, and shining as stars in Otto's happy 
eyes. They were mounted in the great belfry, and for the 
test-chime Otto had employed the best bell-ringers in the city. 

It was a lovely May morning ; and, almost crazed with ex- 
citement and anxiety. Otto, accompanied by a few chosen 
friends, waited outside the city for the first notes of the Har- 
mony Chime. At some distance he thought he could better 
judge of the merits of his work. 

At last the first notes were struck, clear, sonorous, and so 



6 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

melodious that his friends cried aloud with delight. But with 
finger upraised for silence, and eyes full of ecstatic delight, 
Otto stood like a statue until the last note died away. Then 
his friends caught him as he fell forward in a swoon, — a swoon 
so like death that no one thought he would recover. 

But it was not death, and he came out of it with a look of 
serene peace on his face that it had not worn since boyhood. He 
was married to Gertrude that very day, but every one noticed that 
the ecstasy which transfigured his face seemed to be drawn more 
from the sound of the bells than the sweet face beside him. 

wk Don't you see a spell is cast on him as soon as they begin 
to ring?" said one, after the bells had ceased to be a wonder. 
"If he is walking, he stops short, and if he is working, the 
work drops and a strange fire comes in his eyes ; and I have 
seen him shudder all over as if he had an ague." 

In good truth, the bells seemed to have drawn a portion of 
Ottcfs life to them. When the incursions of the war forced 
him to fly from Ghent with his family, his regrets were not for 
his injured property, but that he could not hear the bells. 

He was absent two years, and when he returned it was to 
find the cathedral almost a ruin, and the bells gone no one knew 
where. From that moment a settled melancholy took possession 
of Otto. He made no attempt to retrieve his losses ; in fact, 
he gave up work altogether, and would sit all day with his eyes 
fixed on the ruined belfry. 

People said he was melancholy mad, and I suppose it was the 
truth ; but he was mad with a kind of gentle patience very sad 
to see. His mother had died during their exile, and now his 
wife, unable with all her love to rouse him from his torpor, 
faded slowly away. He did not notice her sickness, and his 
poor numbed brain seemed imperfectly to comprehend her 
death. But he followed her to the grave, and turning from it 
moved slowly down the city, passed the door of his old home 
without looking at it, and went out of the city gates. 



THE HARMONY CRIME. 7 

After that he was seen in every city in Europe at different 
intervals. Charitable people gave him alms, but he never 
begged. He would enter a town, take his station near a church 
and wait until the bells rang for matins or vespers, then take 
up his staff and, sighing deeply, move off. People noting the 
wistful look in his eyes would ask him wdiat he wanted. 

" I am seeking, — I am seeking," was his only reply ; and 
those were almost the only words any one ever heard from him, 
and he muttered them often to himself. Years rolled over the 
head of the wanderer, but still his slow march from town to 
town continued. His hair had grown white, and his strength 
failed him so much that he only tottered instead of walked, but 
still that wistful seeking look was in his eyes. 

He heard the old bells on the Rhine in his wanderings. He 
lingered long near the belfries of the sweetest voices ; but their 
melodious tongues only spoke to him of his lost hope. 

He left the river of sweet bells, and made a pilgrimage to 
England. It was the days of cathedrals in their beauty and 
glory, and here he again heard the tones that he loved, but 
which failed to realize his own ideal. 

When a person fails to fulfil his ideal, his whole life seems a 
failure, — like something glorious and beautiful one meets and 
loses, and never again finds. 

" Be true to the dreams of thy youth," says a German author; 
and every soul is unhappy until the dreams of youth prove true. 

One glorious evening in midsummer Otto was crossing a 
river in Ireland. The kind-hearted boatman had been moved 
by the old man's imploring gestures to cross him. " He 's 
mighty nigh his end, anyhow," he muttered looking at the 
feeble movements of the old pilgrim as he stumbled to his seat. 

Suddenly through the still evening air came the distant 
sound of a melodious chime. At the first note the pilgrim 
leaped to his feet and threw up his arms. 

" O my God," he cried. " found at last ! " 



8 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

"It's the bells of the Convent," said the wondering man,' 
not understanding Otto's words spoken in a foreign tongue, 
but answering his gesture. " They was brought from some- 
where in Holland when they were fighting there. Moighty 
find bells they are, anyhow. But he is n't listening to me." 

No, he heard nothing but the bells. He merely whispered, 
" Come back to me after so many years, — O love of my soid, 
thought of my life ! Peal on, for your voices tell me of 
Paradise." 

The last note floated through the air, and as it died away 
something else soared aloft forever, free from the clouds and 
struggles of life. 

His ideal was fulfilled now. Otto lay dead, his face full of 
peace and joy, for the weary quest of his crazy brain was over, 
and the Harmony Chime had called him to his eternal rest. 

And, past that change of life that men call Death, we may 
well believe that he heard in the ascension to the celestial 
atmosphere the ringing of welcoming bells more beautiful than 
the Harmony Chime. 



THE BELL-FOUNDER OF BRESLAU. 

There once lived in Breslau a famous bell-founder, the fame 
of whose skill caused his bells to be placed in many German 
towers. 

He had an ambition to cast one bell that would surpass all 
others in purity of tone, and that should render his own name 
immortal. 

He was required to cast a bell for the Magdalen Church 
tower of that city of noble churches, — Breslau. He felt that 
this was opportunity for his masterpiece. All of his thoughts 
centred on the Masrdalen bell. 



THE BELL-FOUNDER OF BRESLAU. 9 

After a long period of preparation, his metals were arranged 
for use. The form was walled up and made steady ; the melt- 
ing of the metals in the great bell-kettle had begun. 

The old bell-founder had two faults which had grown upon 
him, — a love of ale and a fiery temper. 

While the metals were heating in the kettle, he said to his 
fire-watch, a little boy, — 

" Tend the kettle for a moment; I am overwrought: I must 
go over to the inn, and take my ale, and nerve me for the casting. 

" But, boy,"' he added, " touch not the stopple ; if you do, 
you shall rue it. That bell is my life, I have put all I have 
learned in life into it. If any man were to touch that stopple, 
I would strike him dead." 

The boy had an over-sensitive, nervous temperament. He 
was easily excited, and was subject to impulses that he could 
not easily control. 

The command that he should not touch the stopple, under the 
dreadful penalty, strongly affected his mind, and made him 
wish to do the very thing he had been forbidden. 

He watched the metal in the great kettle. It babbled, bil- 
lowed, and ran to and fro. In the composition of the glowing 
mass he knew that his master had put his heart and soul. 

It would be a bold thing to touch the stopple, — adventurous. 
His hand began to move towards it. 

The evil impulse grew, and his hand moved on. 

He touched the stopple. The impulse was a wild passion 
now, — he turned it. 

Then his mind grew dark; lie was rilled with horror. He 
ran to his master. 

" I have turned the stopple ; I could not help it," he said. 
" The Devil tempted me ! " 

The old bell-founder clasped his hands and looked upward in 
agony. Then his temper flashed over him. He seized his knife, 
and stabbed the boy to the heart. 



10 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

He rushed back to the foundry, hoping to staj^ the stream. 
He found the metal whole ; the turning of the stopple had not 
caused the metal to now. 

The boy lay dead on the ground. 

The old bell-founder knew the consequences of his act, and 
he did not seek to escape them. He cast the bell ; then he 
went to the magistrates, and said, — 

" My work is done ; but I am a murderer. Do with me as 
you will." 

The trial was short ; it greatly excited the city. The judges 
could not do otherwise than sentence him to death. But as he 
was penitent, he was promised that on the clay of his execution 
he should receive the offices and consolations of the Church. 

" You are good," he said. " But grant me another favor. 
My bells will delight many ears when I am gone ; my soul is in 
them ; grant me another favor." 

" Name it," said the judges. 

" That I may hear the sound of my new bell before I die." 

The judges consulted, and answered, — 

" It shall toll for your execution." 

The fatal day came. 

Toll, toll, toll ! 

There was a sadness in the tone of the bell that touched every 
heart in Breslau. The bell seemed human. 

Toll, toll, toll ! 

How melodious ! how perfect ! how beautiful ! The very air 
seemed charmed ! The years would come and go, and this bell 
would be the tongue of Breslau ! 

The old man came forth. He had forgotten Ms fate in listen- 
ing to the bell. The heavy clang was so melodious that it filled 
his heart with joy. 

" That is it ! that is it ; my heart, my life ! " he said. " I 
know all the metals ; I made the voice ! Ring on, ring on for- 
ever ! Ring in holy days, and happy festivals, and joy eternal 
to Breslau." 



A FRIGHTENED CAPTAIN. 11 

Toll, toll, toll ! 

On passed the white-haired man, listening- still to the call of 
the bell that summoned him to death. 

He bowed his head at the place of execution to meet the 
stroke just as the last tone of the bell melted upon the air. His 
soul passed amid the silvery echoes. The bell rings on. 



A FRIGHTENED CAPTAIN. 

I once heard a story of a company of Home Guards in a 
Kentucky town. They met for parade under a pompous and 
ambitious captain. The object of the organization was to pro- 
tect the town from Morgan's bands of foragers. 

" Shoulder arms ! "' said he, imperiously. " Ground arms ! '" 
as loftily. 

A negro appeared leaping into the parade ground, out of 
breath, but swinging his hat. 

" Morgan — is — coming," he stammered. 

The captain gave one glance at his company, and shouted, 
"Break ranks!"' and break ranks they did, each seeking his 
own safety. 

It is a somewhat similar story that I rind in the entertaining- 
book of which I have spoken. 

William Johnson was one of the so-called order of the " Lib- 
erators of Canada." A provisional government had been formed, 
and he had been appointed Commander of the Fleet. 

On the night of the 20th of May, 1838, says Chapin, the 
English passenger steamer " Sir Robert Peel." while on a trip 
up the river, stopped at a wooding-station on Wells" Island, 
near the head of the stream ; here it was boarded by Johnson, 
at the head of a score or more of well-armed men, disguised in 
Indian costume, who at once proceeded to put the passengers 



12 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

and crew, about forty in number, ashore, and then to fire the 
boat, which was soon burned to the water's edge. This act of 
hostility towards one government and the violation of the neu- 
trality of the other was productive of great excitement ; a 
reward was offered by the Governor of the State of New York 
for his apprehension, and strenuous efforts were made by the 
British military authorities to effect his capture. 

When closely pursued, Johnson had a secret place of retreat, 
that for a long time served as a place of concealment, and the 
knowledge of the locality of which was known but to himself 
and a few of his most trusted confederates. This was a cavern 
upon one of the almost innumerable islands of the archipelago 
of the river, sufficiently capacious to serve as a place of resi- 
dence and concealment for a score of men, and whose entrance 
it was very difficult for one not acquainted with the spot to 
discover. 

Stimulated by the rewards offered, or by a desire to gain the 
plaudits that the consummation of the act would secure, as well 
as probable promotion, a young and daring English officer, 
Captain Boyd, then in Canada, but unattached, undertook the 
project of effecting the capture of Johnson, and proceeded in a 
cautious and systematic manner that promised success, if that 
was possible. 

Enlisting half a score of trusty men, to but a couple of whom, 
however, he intrusted the secret of his mission, he quietly 
started out upon a cruise among the islands in a yacht, under 
the guise of a sportsman. This gave him sufficient excuse for 
going well armed. Fortune at length rewarded the persever- 
ance of Captain Boyd ; and the secret of the outlaw's retreat 
was disclosed to him, as is believed, by one of Johnson's band, 
to whom a few gold pieces proved a stronger incentive than the 
oath of fidelity given to his leader. He also became cognizant 
of the fact that the disturber of the peace was sojourning at the 
cave, accompanied by but half a dozen followers ; and by watch- 



A FRIGHTENED CAPTAIN. 13 

ing the opportunity Captain Boyd was enabled not only to sur- 
prise him when there was but a single follower with him, but to 
effect an entrance to the cavern unopposed, backed by his men. 
who with presented rifles covered the two inmates. 

The insurgent leader could not but manifest some trepidation 
at first at this very unexpected intrusion, but almost at once 
recovered his presence of mind, and in a firm voice demanded : 

" Who are you? What means this ? " 

" I am Captain Boyd, of the English Army, and you are my 
prisoner ! " was the prompt reply. 

"Well, Captain, I will not dispute you," returned Johnson, 
coolly ; " but come in, and we will talk the matter over." 

As he spoke, he pointed to a seat upon a keg at one side of 
the cavern, which apartment was of about ten feet in width by 
something less than forty in length. 

The captain accepted the proffered seat, and at a glance sur- 
veyed the strange room. The view that it presented Mas in 
keeping with the character and pursuits of those whose home 
it was. Rifles, powder-flasks, and bullet-pouches adorned the 
walls ; at the further end were couches formed of branches of 
evergreens covered with blankets ; at one side was a rude lire- 
place, the smoke from which found its way upward through 
a crevice in the rocks above, while the place was lighted by 
da}- by the aperture of a hollow tree-trunk sunk through the 
roof so skilfully that upon the outside it appeared to have 
grown there. 

The others remained at the entrance, with rifles held ready 
to answer any possible demonstration on the part of the two 
prisoners. 

" It is a rule," resumed Johnson, as he took a bottle from 
a shelf in the rock, " that all persons who visit Fort Wallace 
shall partake of its hospitalities. We are plain people here, 
and have no use for the luxuries of life, among which we rank 
glasses : so be kind enough to partake from the bottle." 



14 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

The captain, astonished at and admiring the coolness of his 
captive, courteously accepted it, and placed it to his lips ; but, 
fearful of some ruse, permitted none of the drink to pass 
them. 

" Your friends,'''' said Johnson, " will they not partake ? " 

" No, thanks," returned the captain, smiling involuntarily ; 
"not upon tins occasion!" 

"We have a little business to transact, and I suppose that you 
are impatient, and that the subject is open for remark. To 
commence, what do you wish of me ? " 

" To accompany me at once." 

" To what place, permit me to inquire ? " and as he asked 
this he seated himself upon the head of a barrel opposite to the 
captain. 

" To whatever place we may choose to convey you." 

" To Kingston, perhaps ? " 
' "Quite likely." 

The captive appeared to reflect for a moment ; then he 
walked toward the fireplace and took from one of his pockets 
a pipe. 

" No objections to my smoking, I suppose ? " he inquired. 

" None at all." 

The outlaw calmly proceeded to fill the pipe ; then he took 
from the embers a large coal and placed it upon it, and, return- 
ing to his seat upon the barrel, proceeded to give a couple of 
invigorating whiffs. 

" Come," spoke the captain, " I cannot delay longer ; you 
must come at once." 

Johnson calmly removed the pipe from his lips and held it 
in his hand. 

"I object to accompanying you to Kingston," he said. " This 
barrel," he continued, with a meaning glance, as he observed 
the expression of surprise upon the countenance of the other, 
and removed one of the boards of the lid, " contains powder ; 



A FRIGHTENED CAPTAIN. 15 

and this," as he held the pipe over it, " is a coal ! Shall we 
make the journey ? " 

Brave as he was, it is feared that the adventurous captain, 
as he quickly comprehended the situation, paled a little, while 
his followers made a rapid movement toward the entrance of 
the cavern, and sought safety in flight, save a couple, more 
valiant than the rest, who remained at the door to keep John- 
son and his single follower covered with their pieces. 

A pause succeeded, — an unpleasant one for all, since a spark 
from the coal, or the coal itself, was momentarily liable to fall 
into the barrel of powder and usher them into eternity without 
further warning. 

Johnson was the first to speak. "You should have known, 
Captain," he said, " that William Johnson could never be taken 
alive ; now we can treat on equal terms, — a life for a life, if 
you so decide ! " 

" I confess myself beaten," commenced the captain, rising as 
he spoke. 

" Keep your seat ! " thundered Johnson, handling the pipe 
menacingly. 

The captain resumed his place upon the keg. 

"Now I will listen to you," said the outlaw. 

"I was about to say that I was willing to confess myself 
beaten, and propose that we call this a draw, — we depart, and 
you remain in peace." 

" That is satisfactory," rejoined the other , " but hold a mo- 
ment — Here, Sam," addressing his follower, who stood a few 
yards off, " hand me a coal from the fire." 

The man silently obeyed. Johnson received it, while the 
others watched him apprehensively, and placed it upon the head 
of the barrel, a few inches from the powder, where it gleamed 
with vindictive brightness. " The pipe is in danger of going 
out," he said, in explanation, " and I wish to keep another in 
readiness. Now, to continue, my terms are that you not only 



16 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

depart in peace, but that you give me your word of honor that 
you will not again attempt to molest me in any manner unless 
you should be called upon to do so in self-defence, — that you 
will not disclose the secret of this retreat to any one, and that 
you will require the same pledge from each of all your men." 

" I agree to them," said the captain, promptly. 

"And give me your oath upon it?" said Johnson. 

" I do, upon the honor of an officer of the English army; and 
now I suppose that we may depart ? " 

The captain, rising, left the cavern as soon as consistent with 
official dignity, preceded by the two men who had remained at 
the entrance. The remainder of the party were found a short 
distance away, and, re-entering their boat, they took speedy 
departure. 

They were quickly followed from the cave by Johnson and 
his follower, rifles in hand, who, somewhat distrustful in 
regard to the good faith of their late captors, hurried to a spot 
on the island whence such of their companions as were in the 
vicinity could be summoned by signal to hasten at once to the 
rendezvous. 

The signal had hardly been displayed, and the boat of Cap- 
tain Boyd had not disappeared behind the nearest island, when 
there was heard a loud explosion. The cavern was blown up. 



THE LEGEND OF MARGUERITE AND THE 
ISLE OF DEMONS. 

Belle Isle and the Isle of Demons ! The old French 
voyagers and explorers welcomed the one and shunned the other. 
Among the most thrilling tales told in the halls of French 
noblemen was that of the Isle of the Devils, situated in the 
tossing sea on the north of the New-Found-Land. 



LEGEND OF MARGUERITE AND THE ISLE OF DEMONS. 17 

The island lay as it were at the portal of the unknown 
world, — a world of stupendous boundaries and resources, of 
red nations and plumed chiefs, of cloud-swept mountains and 
mighty water-courses. In the bosom of almost limitless forests 
were sequestered (dans. In the south were lands of perpetual 
summer, festive peoples, and palaces of gold. 




THE ISLE OF DEMONS. 



The shores of Labrador and of Antieosti were dark and 
gloomy, even in midsummer. Strange wild birds made their 
nests there. The old explorers believed that they saw griffins 
there. — great beasts that flew in the air. and that might bear 
away a sailor from one of their ships. 



18 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

But the Isle of Demons was the satanic world. The island 
has been known in recent geography and history under various 
names, as Fishot, The vet, Isle de Roberval. A very ancient 
map gives a picture of the supposed inhabitants, — curious peo- 
ple indeed, having wings, horns, and tails. 

The woods were believed to be haunted. The principal 
occupation of the interesting inhabitants of the island or islands, 
who are depicted with heads, horns, and arms having wings, 
seems to have been howling. These bowlings were thought to 
fill all the near regions of the seas. 

" True it is," says an old adventurer, — " and I myself have 
heard it, not from one, but from a great number of sailors and 
pilots with whom I have made voyages, — that when they 
passed this way they heard in the air, on the tops of the masts 
and about them, a great clamor of voices, like a crowd in a 
market-place. Then they knew that the Isle of Demons was 
not far away." 

The same sounds, it is said, may be heard near the island 
to-day ; but the most superstitious sailor would not think of 
attributing them to anything but the peculiar winds and cur- 
rents of the air. The wildness of the sea and the mournful- 
ness of the winds have not changed ,• but the world has grown 
in intelligence, and in the light of science the demons, like 
the griffins, have disappeared from the imaginations of the toilers 
around the Banks. 

There was a certain voyager, a nobleman of Picardy, known 
in history as Sieur de Roberval. He was made a viceroy of 
New France about the year 1542. He might as well have been 
made viceroy of the air or the sea ; but his titles in this new 
capacity surpassed in pompous words those of any nobleman 
in France. He was Lord of Norembega, Lieutenant-General 
of Canada, and Viceroy of Canada, Hochelaga, Saguenay, 
Newfoundland, Labrador, and other places of equal space on 
paper. He was a man of hard heart; the best place for him 



LEGEND OF MARGUERITE AND THE ISLE OF DEMONS. 19 

would have been on the desolate Isle of Demons, which came 
at last to bear his name. 

He sailed out of the sunny harbor of Rochelle, in April, 1642, 
having three ships and two hundred colonists, bound for the St. 
Lawrence. In June he entered the harbor, of St. John. 

Among the passengers was a niece of Roherval, a young lady 
of wonderful beauty, who was called Marguerite. She had 
been loved, in the bright province whence she came, by a gen- 
tleman who was ill-regarded by Koberval. When this gentle- 
man found that her uncle was resolved to take her to the new 
world, he also joined the expedition, determined like a true 
lover to share the perils, fortunes, and fate of the lovely 
Marguerite. 

Out of the Bay of Biscay, on their way to the wonderful 
regions of the west, the lovers renewed their interviews, and 
seemed to have little thought or care but for each other's 
society. Koberval discovered the renewed affection with anger. 

"I will leave you, Marguerite," he said, "to die on the 
Isle of Demons." 

"And I will share your fate."' whispered her lover in her 
ear. 

The attachment continued. The ship was moving north 
toward the haunted isle. Winds began to whistle about the 
tops of the masts, and the sounds were believed to be evil 
spirits' voices. Marguerite believed the superstition, and she 
knew the fate that awaited her, and began to pray to the 
Virgin, who she thought would espouse her cause and shield 
her from the dark spirits of the air. 

The ship on which were Koberval and Marguerite drew near 
the wild island one summer day. Roberval cast anchor, and 
compelled Marguerite to land, giving her. as a parting portion. 
a certain amount of arms and provisions and an old Norman 
nurse for an attendant. 

Koberval had resolved to sail away in the foo\s and shadows. 



20 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

and to take with him Marguerite's lover for future revenges. 
He was delighting in his power over the crushed Marguerite, 
as she stood weeping on the windy shore, when a man leaped 
overboard, and was lost in the foaming surf. He rose again, at 
a point near the shore. The sailors and emigrants looked upon 
the sea and rocks in dumb astonishment. The fugitive reached 
the shore and joined Marguerite, and the three fled into the 
piny forests whence no Frenchman or Indian would have dared 
to pursue them. The fugitive was the lover of Marguerite. 

The exiles built them a cabin overlooking the restless sea. 
They heard the north winds in the pine tops at night, and 
thought them the voices of demons. When the storms were 
gathering the voices were fearful. Then the beautiful Mar- 
guerite would kneel and pray to the Virgin. 

Marguerite's faith in the Virgin was her comfort now, and 
that of her lover and companion. When the demons came to 
destroy them, as the exiles fancied they often did as they heard 
the winds and the howlings of beasts of prey, Marguerite 
looked upward to the Virgin, and thought she saw a white 
hand stretch out above her. Then all was peace. 

The exiles gathered eggs and berries in summer, and nuts 
in autumn. The woods were filled with game, and the sea 
with fish ; and they laid in a good supply of food for the winter. 

The winter came. They had watched the sea for a sail, but 
none had appeared. Strange gaunt-looking animals began to 
prowl about the cabin, such as they had never seen in France. 
They believed them to be demons. 

When the howlings of these animals became fearful at night, 
Marguerite would pray, and she would see the white hand ; and 
then the exiles would rest in peace and comfort. 

Over Marguerite's prayers, as she believed, dropped the 
white hand of the Virgin like a heavenly lily, and the heaven 
of her heart shone serenely over the wild skies and demon- 
haunted islands and seas. 



LEGEND OF MARGUERITE AND THE ISLE OF DEMONS. 21 

Winter vanished. The soft spring came. The June roses 
bloomed. A child was born to Marguerite. They were four 
now, — five, if one could believe Marguerite's own narrative of 
the presence of the Virgin. 

The hardships of the winter had broken the health of the 
follower of her strange fortunes, and he did not have that faith 
in the white hand that made Marguerite so strong and hopeful. 
He grew thin, and, consumed by fevers, died in the summer 
time, craving life for the sake of the mother and child. 

The old Norman nurse and Marguerite made his grave where 
they could watch it and guard it from the beasts and demons. 
The burial was such as has seldom been seen, — two women 
and the infant stood above the coffinless body, and the old 
nurse wrung her hands, and the mother repeated the ancient 
prayers. The beasts prowled around the cabin, the mysterious 
voices were heard in the air ; but Marguerite still trusted and 
prayed, and looked hopefully out on the empty sea, and still 
dreamed that she saw the white hand of the Virgin. 

The child died. The grave was made beside the father's. 
The mourners were two. 

The old Norman nurse died. There was but one to dig 1 the 
grave and one mourner now. 

Marguerite was alone — alone, as she believed, with the 
demons. But as often as they came, she prayed, and as often 
the fancied white hand appeared. 

Bears prowled around the cabin and tried to enter. She 
thought them monsters. She says that she killed three that 
were white. 

She watched the three graves and the helpless sea. She again 
saw the snows melt, and the birds return from the suns of the 
south. 

One day she saw afar a speck on the water. It was the boat 
of some fishermen. She kindled fires and fed them. The boat- 
men saw them, and came to the island. They carried Mar- 
guerite away. 



22 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

She returned to France and told her melancholy story to her 
courtly friends, who welcomed her back. She died in peace, 
led to Paradise, as she doubtless believed, by the white hand in 
which she had trusted in her forest cabin. 

What was the fate of Roberval ? 

The Canadian winter followed him. "With it came famine to 
the colony, then pestilence. But misfortunes and disasters only 
served to harden his heart. He governed with an iron hand. 
He hung six men in one day; the whipping-post was kept in 
constant use ; he banished some who displeased him to desolate 
islands; others he put in fetters. The colony came to speedy 
ruin. Roberval returned to France overwhelmed with his 
calamities, even. before poor Marguerite found her way back 
over the sea. 

Still he retained the favor of the Court. 

Years passed. One night there was a murder near the 
Church of the Innocents in the heart of Paris. The tragedy 
sent a thrill of excitement through the streets. The dying 
victim saw no white hand in the gathering shadows of death. 
There was a red hand in his dreams ; he must have felt the end 
was but the fruit of his own deeds, the result of his own exam- 
ple and conduct, whatever may have been the immediate cause 
or whoever may have struck the blow. It was Roberval. 



JUST ONCE MORE. 

It was a cold night in January. Late in the afternoon the 
snow had begun to fall, and now a sharp, cutting wind was 

rapidly rising. The streets of M were all deserted, save by 

those whom necessity forced to brave the blinding storm ; and 
quiet would have reigned supreme throughout the town but for 
the ceaseless roar of the ocean as it came rushing up the beach, 



JUST ONCE MORE. 23 

tossing sprays of white foam far up into the dark sky, and then 
slowly retracing its way with a sullen moan. 

The soft, ruddy light that shone through the large French 
plate windows of Gilbert's saloon suggested the warmth and 
comfort within. Before the door of this saloon a young man 
was standing, battling with his conscience. He remembered his 
old promise to his mother never again to enter a gambling- 
hall, but to-night the desire to try his luck just once more was 
greater than he could resist. -Inst then a man opened the door, 
and a merry peal of Laughter was borne out into the storm. 
That peal of laughter decided the contest for Fred Ashton ; and 
stifling the small voice that was still pleading with his better 
self, he pushed by the man in the door, hurried through the 
outer saloon, and entered the room at the back. 

"Halloo, Ashton,"' cried one of the men. "did you snow 
down ? " " I 'd begun to think you 'd deserted your old friends 
altogether,"' said another, looking up from his cards. "Sit 
down and make your miserable life more so," said a third. 
"Better have a glass of something to warm yon up,'" said a 
fourth. Fred drew a plush easy-chair up to the table, sat down. 
and taking the wine, held it up to the light. How it foamed 
and sparkled ! He threw his head back against the soft cushion 
of his chair and leisurely drained the glass. As he placed it on 
the table, a voice from the other side cried out, "Well, I'll be 
bound if you haven't beat me again, stranger." 

The speaker rose, and noticing Fred for the tirsf time, came 
round and gave his hand a hearty shake, saying, as he did so. 
"Why, Ashton, you're just the fellow I wanted to see. Come, 
have a game with this man; he's beat me twice, but you're 
pretty good at cards, I believe." 

Mr. Leighton, the man in question, was about fifty years old. 
He had sharp, irregular features and large gray eyes that seemed 
keen enough to read one's very thoughts. Fred put up a hun- 
dred dollars against two, and soon both men were deep in the 



24 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

game. Fortune seemed to be on the side of Leighton, however, 
and he won. In the second game Fred put up two hundred 
dollars against three ; but Leighton's good fortune still contin- 
ued, and Fred lost that also. 

Fred began to grow excited, but his companion was quite 
calm. " Better try once more," he said encouragingly. " Sup- 
pose you win, as you have a fair chance of doing, then we 'd be 
square, you know." " Go ahead, Ashton ; put up three hun- 
dred dollars, — that'll just cover the debt," said some of the 
men. " All right, then, here goes," Fred replied, as he finished 
another glass of wine. Mr. Leighton was a professional gam- 
bler. He understood cards perfectly, knew when and where to 
cheat, and just how to do it. During the first part of the game 
he laughed and jested a good deal, and played rather indiffer- 
ently. Fred was fast getting the upper hands of the game. 
His spirits rose, and he called for more wine. He was almost 
sure of winning, when suddenly Mr. Leighton held up a card, 
exclaiming, " Well, well, well ! " 

Fred Ashton sank back in his chair and closed his eyes as if 
trying to shut out the terrible truth. " I am ruined, ruined," 
he said with a groan. " And I," replied Leighton, looking at his 
watch, and mimicking the young man's despairing tone, " am 
too late for the eleven o'clock train." Fred rose from his chair, 
mechanically put on his coat and hat, and was about to leave 
the room, when Leighton came up to him. " I 'm very sorry to 
trouble you,' young man," he said ; " but I 'm in a great hurry 
for that money. I have some bills to meet next week, and 
must have it by that time without fail." So saying, he put a 
small card into his hand, and walked away. 

Once more in the open air, the intense cold revived his heavy 
brain, and Fred was able to think clearly. There was only one 
thing left. He could not pay the debt, and he would never go 
to prison. With a mighty effort he crushed the voice that 
reminded him of the money his employer had put in his safe the 



JUST ONCE MORE. 25 

day before. " He trusts me, and I will never betray that trust," 
lie said to himself. He walked rapidly to the beach, and going 
to the farther end of a covered pier that extended from the back 
of one of the summer hotels, stood gazing into the water. " My 
life is all I have, and that's not worth living,** he said, speaking 
aloud, and with a strange ring in his voice. For a moment the 
sea was still, as if it were aghast at the awful deed it was about 
to witness. 

The night was very dark, and in his excitement Fred did not 
notice a tall man, who stood near him. He seized the railing, 
and was preparing to make the fatal plunge when a firm hand 
grasped his arm, and a deep voice close to his ear said, "Your 
life is not your own to keep or throw away as may suit your 
convenience. It is given to you for a divine purpose, and some 
day you will be called upon to render up an account of it to the 
Giver.'" It would take too long to relate all that passed between 
Fred Ashton and his rescuer. They went back to the hotel and 
occupied the same room for the rest of the night. 

Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore were sitting before a bright w r ood fire 
in the handsomely furnished parlor of their residence on Chest- 
nut Street. "I do not know why," Mr. Dinsmore was saving, 
l * but somehow my heart went out to the boy, he seemed to be 
so utterly alone in the world." 

" You did just right, my dear," said Mrs. Dinsmore. k - 1 have 
a noble husband, and I am proud of him. If our Harry had 
lived." she added gently, "he might have been led astray too."* 

"I can hardly see how a boy with such a mother to care tor 
and advise him could be led astray," said her husband. tk I tell 
you what,*' he exclaimed after a pause, during which he had 
been gazing thoughtfully into the fire, -this is a hard world for 
a boy without a mother. The home influence is everything. I 
have had a long talk with young Ashton,'* he continued, "and I 
hope with some assistance and a good deal of encouragement to 
make a man of him after all." 



26 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

Mr. Dinsmore lias long since given up the management of his 
business, but it is faithfully carried on by Fred Ashton, who has 
become one of the most upright and honorable of men. The 
saloon and gambling-hall no longer hold out any inducements 
for him ; but after the day is over, he lays aside the cares of 
business for the rest and quiet of a happy home, where a loving- 
wife and three merry children wait to welcome him. 



THE GHOST OF GREYLOCK. 

It was a clear evening late in December. I recall it well, 
though I was a boy then. A gold star was shining in the fad- 
ing crimson over the old New England town near Greylock like 
a lamp in a chapel window. The woodland pastures were pur- 
ple with gentians, red with cranberries, and yellow with frost- 
smitten ferns. The still air echoed from the russet hills the call 
of the chore-boy. The wains were rumbling home on the leaf- 
less country roads. Stacks of corn-husks were rising here and 
there, after late hours' husking; and now and then a supper- 
horn was blown from the door of some red farmhouses among 
the orchards, far and near. 

Over the country road, between the sunset and moonrise, 
John Ladd, a farmer boy, was driving home a team of pump- 
kins and shocks of stalks. These stalks were cut late in sum- 
mer, and gathered into small bundles. The bundles were 
themselves gathered into shocks, and these shocks were so tied' 
as to form a compact body about five or six feet high. A shock 
of stalks in the evening resembled the form of a woman, or the 
old-fashioned costume of a lady in short waist and large hoops. 

In bringing home the pumpkins from the fields of corn in 
which they commonly grew, it was a custom to load a few 
shocks of stalks upon them, and to cover the pumpkins with 



THE GHOST OF GREYLOCK. 27 

them in the barn cellar, or on the barn floor, as a protection 
from the cold. 

Johnny Ladd had learned a new tune, a very popular one at 
that time, and he was one of those persons who are haunted by 
the musical car. Everybody was singing this new tune. The 
tune was called, "There's a sound going forth from the mul- 
berry trees,"' and the words were very mysterious and sublime, 
being taken, in part, from the inspirations of the old Hebrew 
poets. 

Johnny made the old woods ring with the new tune, — 

" What joyful sound is this I hear, 
Fresh from the mulberry tops ! " 

A new tune turns the head of an impressionist, especially 
when associated with such grand, poetic images as these ; and 
while Johnny's voice was being echoed by old Greylock, the 
boy lost his sense of sublunary things, and one of the bundles 
of stalks tumbled off the load and landed in the middle of tin- 
road without his notice, and stood there upright, looking like 
the form of a woman at a little distance away in the dark. In 
slipping from the load the shock had bent a few sheaves upward 
on one side ; so it presented the appearance of a woman with 
her arm raised as a gesture of warning. 

The cart rumbled on with its singing young driver, leaving 
this ominous figure in the middle of the road at the very top of 
the hill. 

Many of the old towns used to have a poor, homeless dog — 
"nobody's dog," or dog vagrant, — a cur that farm-hands 
"shooed," boys stoned, women avoided, and no one owned or 
cared to own. Cheshire had such a dog; he used to steal bones 
from back-yards, and sleep under haystacks and shocks of stalks, 
and run out of these with his tail curled under him when Tie 
heard any one approaching. This dog came trotting along the 
road, soon after the shock of stalks had been left behind, and 



28 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

thinking that the shock would be a good cover for the night, 
crawled into it, curled up, and probably went to sleep. 

The shock was left on smooth, shelving ground, and could 
slip about easily; and whenever the dog moved the shock 
moved, waving its spectral hand in a very mysterious manner. 

Now just beyond this animated effigy on the top of the hill, 
was a graveyard, and in it a year before had been buried an old 
woman who had been found dead sitting in her chair. Her 
grave had been visited by a local poet, who had written for her 
gravestone the following biographical epitaph : — 

" As I was sitting in my chair, 
'Busy about my worldly care, 
In one brief moment I fell dead, 
And to this place I was conveyed." 

Such was the animated corn-shock, and the peculiar condition 
of affairs on the top of the hill, when a party of philosophical 
jokers met to pass the evening in the big travellers' room of the 
" Half-Way Inn." 

This inn was kept by Freelove Mason, a buxom hostess whose 
name was familiar to every traveller between Boston and Albany 
in the pastoral days of the old New England stage-coach. She 
was a famous cook, like Julien, of the good-living Boston inn, 
whose name still lives in soups, and often heads the appetizing 
list on menus. 

The gray-coated old stage-drivers used to toot their horns on 
approaching the elm-shaded valley of Cheshire, as a signal to 
Freelove to have the afternoon dinner hot on the table when the 
coach should stop under the swinging sign between the steeple- 
like trees. 

What stages they were, with their heavy wheels and flexible 
leather gearing ! They were painted green and yellow, with 
sign letters in red, and the State of Massachusetts coat-of-arms 
or rather seal on the door. The middle seat was supplied with 
a broad leather band for a back, which was unhooked while the 



THE GHOST OF GREY LOCK. 29 

passengers of the back scat found their places. The driver's 
seat was high and grand, with a black leather boot under which 
were placed the mail-bags, and a dog that had been well edu- 
cated in the school of growls, and that was sure to check any 
impertinent curiosity in the conscientious exercise of his office. 
A tall whip cut the air above the seat, protruding out of a round 
pocket near the one high step. A tally-ho horn found a place 
between the driver's legs ; and when it was lifted into the air, 
its blast caused the dogs to drop their tails, and the hares to 
prick up their ears, and the partridges to whir away, and the 
farm hands to take breath amid their work. 

It was an important hour in Cheshire when the grand Boston 
roach dashed up between the two great Lombardy poplars, and 
stopped at the horse-block in front of the Half-Way Inn. Dogs 
barked, children ran, and women's faces filled the windows 
among the morning-glory vines. At the open door stood Free- 
love always, on these occasions, her face beaming, her cap bor- 
der bobbing, and her heart overflowing, and seeming to meet in 
every guest a long-lost sister or brother. She knew how to run 
a hotel : and nothing but prosperity attended her long and mem- 
orable administration. 

On this notable evening of which I speak, the principal char- 
acters were Judge Smart, Billy Brown, — or " Sweet Billy." as 
he was called, an odd genius, who was the " Sam Lawson " of 
the Berkshire Hills, — ( lameralsman, the stage-driver, and Blingo, 
the blacksmith. T can see the very group now, as when a boy. 
They were joined by Freelove herself, early in the evening, who 
brought her knitting, and was eager to discuss the latest marvel 
of the newspaperless times, and to add the wisdom of her moral 
reflections upon it. She prefaced the remarks which she wished 
to make emphatically — and they were frequent — with the 
word "Lordy," almost profane in its suggestions, but not ill- 
intentioned by her. It was a common exclamation of surprise 
in the old countv towns. 



30. ZIGZAG STORIES. 

The short, red twilight had .been followed by light gusts of 
night winds, whirling leaves, passing like an unseen traveller, 
leaving silence behind. Shutters creaked, and clouds flew hur- 
riedly along the sky over the sparkling courses of the stars. 

The conversation of the evening turned on the old topic, — 
Were there ever haunted places? Judge Smart and Blingo, 
the blacksmith, were of the opinion that there were no trust- 
worthy evidences of supernatural manifestations to human eyes 
and ears, and it required great moral courage at this time to 
call in question the traditional philosophy of the old Colony 
teachers and wonder tales. 

" There is no evidence whatever that there ever was a haunted 
place in this country or anywhere else, and I do not believe 
that any one ever* knew such a place except in his imagination, 
not even Cotton Mather himself, or that any one ever will. 

" ' With those who think that there are witches 
' There the witches are: 

With those who think there are no witches, 
Witches are not there.' " 

So said Blingo, the blacksmith. 

Freelove started, but only said, " Lordy ! " in a deep contralto 
voice. Was it possible that such heresy as this had been uttered 
in the great room of her tavern ? A tavern without a haunted 
room or some like mystery Avould be just a tavern ; no more to 
be respected than an ordinary! She let down her knitting- 
work into her lap in a very deliberate way, and sat silent, 
Then she said most vigorously to Blingo, the blacksmith, — 

" So you have become of the opinion of the Judge and the 
stage-driver ? Look here, Blingo, I should think that you would 
be afraid to doubt such things. I should. I should be afraid 
that something awful would follow me, and whoop down ven- 
geance on me, like an old-fashioned hurricane, — I should. 
Mercy me, hear the wind howl ! There it comes again. Lordy ! " 



THE GHOST OF GREYLOCK. 31 

The great sign creaked, and a loose shutter rattled, and a 
shutter banged. 

"Blingo, you may be an honest-meaning man, but don't you 
invite evil upon this house. I — " 

k> My good woman, don't you worry. I just want to ask you 
one question: If ghosts cry and shriek, as you say they do, 
they can also talk, can't they, now? Say'/' 1 

" I suppose so." 

"Well, why don't they do it then, and tell what they want, 
honest-like? There, now!" 

There came another rush of wind and leaves, and many rat- 
tling noises. Freelove seemed to have an impression that she 
was called on to vindicate the invisible world in some way so 
as to sustain the most friendly relations to it. 

Sweet Billy Brown, the Cheshire joker, came to her assistance 
in a very startling and unexpected manner, after one or two 
more ominous bangs of a shutter. How odd he looked ; his 
face red with the fire, and his eyes full of roguery ! 

" Freelove," said he, with lifted eyebrows and wide mouth. 
— " Freelove, these are solemn times for poor, unthinking 
mortals to make such declarations as these. Winds are blowin'. 
and winders are rattlin', and shutters are bangin". and what 
not. Hist! Just you listen now." 

He gave me a curious wink, as much as to say, ''Now watch 
for a rare joke." 

" Did you know that old woman, she what died last year, 
come November, come the 12th, sitting in her chair, bolt up- 
right — -so?" Billy straightened up like a statue. "Did you 
know what she answered? She answered some boys what was 
a-whortelberryin' in her graveyard ! " 

"Answered?" said Freelove, with a bob of her cap-border. 
" Answered ? Lordy ! Did you say answered ? " 

"Mercy me! Yes, answered. 'Twas all mighty curious 
and mysterious like. Them boys they just hollered right out 



32 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

there, up in that old, briery, burying graveyard on the windy 
hill, ' Old woman, old woman, what did you die of ? ' And the 
old woman answered — nothin' at all." 

Billy gave me another peculiar look. 

"■ Lordy ! Did she ? I always knew it was so. Nothing 
ailed her ; she had just got through." 

" But I have n't ; that is n't all. I have somethin' more to 
tell, — somethin' to make your hair stand on end, as Shakespeare 
says." 

Freelove felt of her wig. 

" One night in October," continued Sweet Billy, " a certain 
young man that I might name was passing that place with his 
girl, and he told the girl, as they were passing, what answer 
the old woman had made the whortelberryin' boys in her grave- 
yard. And she says, says she, ' I dast to ask that question ; ' 
and she went up to the wall, she did, and says she, says she 
mighty pert and chipper-like, says she, ' Old woman, old 
woman, what did you die of ? ' and just as true as I am sittin' 
here, and the wind is blowin', and the shutters are bangin', the 
old woman answered, just as she did before — nothin' at all ! " 

Freelove's cap gave another bob, and she said, " L-o-r-d-y ! " 
when Sweet Billy continued : — 

" And I, — yes, I ventured to ask her the same question one 
night when I was passin', and I, true as preachin', got the same 
answer myself, — nothin' at all. You may believe it or not, — 
there, now." 

Freelove sat like a pictured woman in a pictured chair. 

" I have always heard that that old graveyard was haunted," 
said she at last. " Now let us be perfectly honest and sincere 
with each other. You three men say that there is no such 
thing as the appearance of spirits to living people. That is so. 
If you, Judge Smart, and you, Cameralsman, and you, Blingo, 
will go to-night up to the top of that hill and say those identical 
words, I will give you all a hot supper when 3-ou return. It 



THE i, IIosT OF GREYLOCK. 33 

is in the brick oven now. People have seen strange things 
there for fort}' years. Here is a test for yon. There, now! 
Von "ve all got ears and eyes. Will you go? " 

"I will," said the Judge. "I wouldn't think any more of 
doing a thing like that than I would of going to the wood-pile 
and speaking to the chopping-block." 

" Nor I," said Cameralsman. 

" Nor I," said Blingo. 

" Well, go," said Freelove ; " but promise me that if you should 
see anything all in white, or if the old woman answers you as she 
did the others, you will believe these ghost stories to be true."' 

"Yes," said the Judge, the stage-driver, and the blacksmith, 
all in chorus. 

There was a shout of laughter, and a swinging of arms and 
putting on of overcoats ; and the three men banged the door 
behind them, and turned merrily toward the hill road, thinking 
only of the hot supper they would have on their return. A 
December supper out of an old brick oven in the prosperous 
days of the Cheshire farmers was no common meal. 

I followed them. I thought I saw the double sense of Sweet 
Billy's words, and I was full of wonder at his boldness. The 
old graveyard had borne a very doubtful reputation for nearly 
a generation, but Billy's joke furnished a new horror to the 
place of dark imaginations. 

It was a bright, gusty December night. The moon was 
rising like an evening sun behind the great skeletons of oaks 
on the high hill. Now and then came a gust of wind breaking 
the chestnut burrs, and dropping down showers of chestnuts. 
The frosts were gathering and glimmering over the pastures. 

Billy Brown was specially happy over his joke, and the play 
upon words in the old woman's supposed answer. He had told 
the story in such a realistic way and tone that no one had seen 
the point of it, which is at once obvious in print. The Judge 
had a very strong feeling of self-sufficiency. 

3 



34 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" I would not engage in this foolishness but for the supper," said 
he. " ' Three wise men of Gotham went to sea in a bowl ! ' " 

" Nor I," said Cameralsman. " I would hate to be quoted 
all over the town as having made such scatter-brains of myself. 
The people would all be laughing at me, and if there is any- 
thing that I can't endure it is to be laughed at. There are 
men who face battles that cannot stand a joke. I have seen 
stormy weather on the old roads, but my legs would fly like 
drumsticks in a cannonade, before the giggle of a girl. People 
are governed by their imaginations, and that makes us all a 
strange lot of critters." 

After these sage remarks we stubbed along the moonlit road, 
the Judge leading. . Once he stopped and said, " What fools 
we all are ! " repeating Puck's view of the human species. 

" That 's so," said Cameralsman. 

" You '11 feel as full of wisdom as old King Solomon," said 
Billy, the joker. " You will, now, when you hear that answer 
comin' up from the bowels of the earth, without any head or 
tongue or body, or nothin'." 

The three men laughed. 

A white rabbit ran across the road. We all stopped. White ! 
Was it a sign ? Our imaginations began to be active, and to 
create strange pictures and resemblances. There followed the 
white streaks of the rabbit a gust of wind, overturning beds of 
leaves. I was so excited that my forehead was wet with 
perspiration. 

" Cracky ! There 's somethin' strange somewhere. I can 
feel it in the air," said Billy. " My two eyes ! What is that ? " 

We all stopped. The moon was rising over the oaks and 
pines, and on the top of the hill stood what looked to us all 
like the figure of a woman with an arm raised, mysterious and 
silent, as in warning. 

Under ordinary circumstances we would have seen there 
simply a shock of stalks. But our imaginations were excited, 
and we were in doubt. 







L 







THE GHOST OF C REV LOCK. 37 

" It 's the old woman herself," said Cameralsman. 

•• ( Ome out to meet us," said the Judge, sarcastically. 

" Cracky, if I don't believe it is," said Billy, with bending 
form and staring . eyes. 

" Judge ? " 

"What, Billy?" 

"That was a joke." 

"What?" 

" Wot I said about the old woman, and that she would answer 
nothin' at all. But the graveyard is haunted. I 've heard so 
a hundred times." 

" Well, that figure is no joke, as you can see. But it is up 
there that we shall have to go, and you too, Billy." 

" Oh, Judge, not now that I told you it was all a joke." 

" But you must, Billy." 

"Why?" 

" Do you want to be laughed at as a coward ? " 

There was a movement of the figure. 

" Oh, Judge, look ! I can see her hand move. Oh, heavings 
and earth ! let us try a race back to the tavern." 

" No, no ; we must investigate. We 'd lose our reputations 
if we did not. A man must stand by his reputation whatever 
may come." 

" Judge, these are solemn times. Anybody is welcome to 
my reputation ; I 'd part with it now if I only could get back 
to the tavern again," said Billy- 

The Judge pressed on. The rest followed unwillingly; Billy 
lagging behind the others, but led on by force of example. 

Our imaginations now made of the object a perfect old 
woman, with a waving arm. 

" Judge," said Billy again. 

" Come on, you coward ! " 

" She is warning us to turn back," said Billy. " Don't you 
see ? Bach it is. Just look at the moon. Judge. Have n't you 



38 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

any respect for the moon, nor for warnin's, nor for me, nor for 
nothin' ? ' Back,' she says, ' turn hack.'' " 

We were now in full view of the object, our nervous fears 
growing at every step. We all stopped again. 

" Cameralsman," said the Judge, "you have muscle; throw 
a stone at her." 

Cameralsman picked up a stone and threw it with great force 
towards the mysterious image. 

The effect was surprising. The figure began to bob up and 
down, and to move clown the hill, turning round and round, 
and waving its threatening arm. We all stepped back ; Billy 
crying, " The heavings have mercy on, mortal man ! " All the 
nervous control we - had left vanished. We were now mere 
children of our fancies, victims of our fears. 

The next event paralyzed us all. I can hear it now. A 
wild, piercing, muffled cry, or shriek, rose from the figure, cut- 
ting the air and echoing everywhere a wild, long, piteous howl. 
It was repeated twice. Then the figure turned round and 
round again, waving its long arm ; then it seemed to bow over, 
and, as it did so, a white form leaped into the air. A wild gust 
of wind swept over the hill ; the prostrate figure was borne into 
the gulch by the wayside, and the white form was gone as 
though it had vanished. The road was clear. The moon 
seemed like the head of a giant rising over the hill. We were 
all dumb with fear. Even the Judge spread his legs apart in 
terror. 

" It is n't in mortal power to stand such a sight as that," said 
he. " The invisible world is after us. Run ! " 

We all approved his decision. 

Run ! We turned at the order, and I never saw nervous 
energy so applied to the limbs of any human beings as it was 
then. There came another gust of wind that carried away the 
Judge's hat. We did n't stop for it. Billy stumbled once and 
fell headlong, and rose covered with blood. But he only said, 



THE GHOST OF GREYLOCK. 39 

"Heavings! " and bounded on again, his legs flying faster than 
before. In this excited condition we returned to the inn, and 
tumbled one after another 'into the door. Freelove met us 
then-, all excitement, with her usual inconsiderate exclamation. 
The Judge was first to speak after the return. 

" There are some things that make one wish for extraction 
or annihilation," said he ; " and the invisible world has come 
down from the firmament to terra Jirma." This judicial an- 
nouncement I have always thought a model of its kind. " The 
wise men are confounded ; I never really and truly believed in 
such things before." 

"I wouldn't stay in this neighborhood," said Cameralsman, 
" for all the taverns in America. I never really believed that 
such things happen ; now I know. I am sure." 

" Heaving forgive me ! " said Blingo, the blacksmith, " 1 am 
a humbled man. I have all the evidences of my senses. These 
things are so." 

" Your supper is ready," said Freelove, turning round and 
round, like a top. 

"Supper?" said the Judge. "I don't feel as though I 
would ever eat anything again." 

"If I only knew where there was any safe world to go to, 
I 'd go there," said Billy. " I declare I would. This is about 
the poorest world that I ever got into, — it is, now. Ghosts 
a-swingin' their arms, an' whirlin' roun', an' shriekin', an' 
callin' up the moon an' winds, an' disappearin' right before 
your eyes into the bowels of the earth. Oh, my ! Why, any- 
body who would doubt what we saw would doubt anything. 
Heaving forgive me ! This is my last joke. I ve got through." 

Freelove flew about, all excitement. We agreed, the Judge 
and all, that here was a supernatural event. How could we 
have dreamed of a dog in a shock of stalks ? 

Here, at last, was a case of real ghost in old Greylock ! 



40 ZIGZAG S10RIES. 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 

Many years ago, when the East Indies were regarded in all 
European countries as the treasure islands of the seas, there 
lived in Amsterdam, Holland, a Dutch sea-captain by the name 
of Vanderdecken. He possessed great physical strength and 
a spirit of daring ; he had grown very rich by trading in the 
Dutch colonies in the Indies, and very proud too with his 
riches. He met and' outrode many gales, and he came to 
regard himself as a man of destiny, to whose will all things 
were possible. 

At this time there was a great Dutch city on the Straits of 
Sunda, now decayed, but once a golden treasure-house in the 
view of the sailors of the Netherlands. Vessels went out of 
Amsterdam empty, but returned from the Java Sea laden with 
fruits and treasures. In short, the sailor was looked upon as 
a sea king who sailed for the Java Sea. 

Of course there was no Suez Canal at this time, and the 
burgomasters, as the mayors of the Dutch and Flemish towns 
were called, went around the far Cape of Good Hope in their 
voyages to gather the wealth of the Indian seas. 

Vanderdecken was not a reverent man. He was proud of his 
defiance of religion and the Church. 

One day the pious people of Amsterdam were pleased with 
the sight of a fine vessel in the harbor. 

" When does she sail ? " was asked. 

" To-morrow," was answered by the sailors. 

" To-morrow is Good Friday," said the people. "Some ships 
have sailed away on Friday, but they have all been lost. Such 
a thing as a ship sailing on Good Friday never was known. 
What will become of her ? " 

The sailors themselves looked frightened, but said, — ■ 




A STRANG?: FORM APPEARED ON THE DECK. 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 43 

"We can trust our captain for that." 
"Who is your captain?" 
" Vanderdecken." 

" Where is the ship bound for?" 

" The Java Seas." 

The next day was Good Friday. Bells rilled the April air, — 
solemn bells, — and while they were ringing, the sails of the 
ship arose, and the ship passed down the harbor and into the 
sea. 

Wondering eyes watched her. "What will become of her'.'' 
What will become of her?" asked all the people. Many 
answered, " She never will return." 

The Dutch at this time controlled the wonderland of Borneo, 
as to-day. The city on the Javan Sea to which their ships went 
for treasure was called Bantam. This city declined on the rise 
of Batavia. 

Vanderdecken had a prosperous voyage until he reached the 
Cape of Good Hope, when the ship encountered a most furious 
gale. The weather was so fierce that the sailors began to fear 
that evil spirits possessed the air. Days passed, and the gale 
continued. The ship made no progress, but was tossed about 
like a bubble. 

A week passed, and still the winds lashed the waters. The 
ship was driven hither and thither, and her bare cordage shrieked 
in the ceaseless winds. 

The sailors came to Vanderdecken, and asked, "What does 
this mean ? " 

"Mr. Captain," said one, "you cannot defy God, — the 
heavens are against us. Remember Good Friday." 

At this Vanderdecken grew very angry with winds, with the 
sailors, and with fate. 

"Howl on!" he said to the wild sky and white waves. 
"Blow! beat! I will double the Cape if I have to sail to all 
eternity. Howl! blow! beat!" 



44 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

A darkness came over the sea, and a strange form appeared 
on the deck of the ship and stood by the Captain. 

" I have heard your vow," said the mysterious figure. " You 
shall sail on forever." 

The word " forever " struck terror even to the proud heart 
of Vanderdecken. 

" Who are you ? " 

" I raised the storm." 

"The Evil One?" 

" So men call me." 

" I am to sail on forever ? " 

" Yes, forever.!' 

" And never come to port ? " 

" Never." 

" But will you not grant me some condition of release?" 

"No." ' 
, "Not one?" 

" Yes, one," said the dark figure with a sneer ; " if you will 
find one heart in the world that is always true, I will release 
you. But that will never, never release you, for such a heart 
never yet was found." 

" Not in women ? " 

" Man nor woman." 

"But how can I find such a heart unless I go into port?" 

" You majr go into port once in seven years, under the 
spell." 

The air grew darker. 

" Sail on forever ! " said the figure. The darkness deepened, 
and he was gone. 

Time went on, and the ship was driven hither and thither 
from one sea to another, by gale upon gale. The sails turned 
red like blood, and the masts turned black. The sailors grew 
white and thin, and the face of Vanderdecken came to wear a 
look of unutterable sorrow and remorse. 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 45 

Sometimes the fated Captain would meet a ship and try to 
send letters back to Holland ; but the ships that received his 
letters never came to port. His ship became the terror of 
sailors, and no vessel that met him would take letters from him. 

Every seven years he would enter some port, under the spell, 
in search of one true heart. But under the spell he would have 
to sail away again, each time more hopeless and in deeper 
sorrow. 

So a hundred or more years passed ; and his ship, like a 
skeleton, was tossed about by the gales. 

The ships of the sea all shunned him. It was regarded as 
an evil omen so much as to see the " Flying Dutchman," as the 
ship of Vanderdecken came to be called. 

His relatives died, and his friends, — all of whom he had 
loved. "* Oh, that I might forget the past," he would say, — 
" the faces of those who loved me, my evil influence, and my evil 
deeds ! " 

A sailor came to him one day, and said, — 

" I will tell you a secret." 

"What?" 

"How to rind a true heart and get released." 

" That would make you a friend to me, indeed. How ? " 

" Truth finds its own. Repent, and carry a true heart your- 
self, and you will find another true heart. Do not the same 
elements find each other ? " 

There came over Vanderdecken a s^reat change. 

" How will any one know that my own heart is true ? " he 
asked one day of the sailor. 

" The soul has its atmospheres and influences that are unseen. 
Space does not bound them. Like thought finds like thought, 
and like feeling like feeling, across the world. We meet people 
in strange places whom we have met in the soul atmospheres 
before, and we know them and they know us, though we have 
never seen each other." 



46 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" You talk like a man of the world, and not like a doomed 
wanderer of the sea." 

The ship with her red sails and black masts was driven away 
from the hot seas towards the cold coasts of Norway. Seven 
years since he had learned the secret of being true, to find in 
others a true heart, had passed, and he again set foot upon the land. 

In the old Norwegian seaport there lived a sea-captain named 
Daland. He had a beautiful daughter, whose name was Senta. 
The home of this merchant-captain had been enriched with 
works of art from many lands, and among the pictures in the 
room of his beautiful daughter was a portrait of the Flying 
Dutchman. 

The face in the picture was one of great sadness, as repre- 
senting a penitent and broken spirit, and about the time of 
Vanderclecken's new purpose in life, which he may be supposed 
to have adopted. The picture began to make a strange impres- 
sion upon the beautiful Senta. 

" Tell me about the Dutchman," she said one day to her 
father, soon after he had come into port. 

" He is doomed to sail forever." 

" Is there no hope for him ? " 

"None, unless he can find a true heart to love him." 

"I love him, and I wish I could release him." 

" But you have not a true heart." 

"Why?" 

" No one has." 

" Did you ever know me to be untrue ? " 

" No." 

" A heart governed in all things by a sense of right cannot be 
untrue." 

" But how about your lover, young Eric ? " 

" He may love me, but I only respect him. I do not return 
his love, and I have told him so, although it has cost me nights 
of pain. Is not that being true ? " 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 47 

» And cruel ? " 

"No. Eric has worth, but it is not destined for me. I have 
told him the truth." 

Vanderdecken, on entering- the Norwegian port, found 
another ship there which had just come in from the seas. It 
was Daland's. The two captains made each other's acquaint- 
ance, and Daland invited Vanderdecken to share the hospitali- 
ties of his home. 

At the time that Vanderdecken entered the Norwegian port. 
Senta was spinning among her maidens and singing to them 
about the sea. 

While she was so occupied, Eric, her lover, saw her father's 
sail coming into port, and hastened to her to tell her the joyful 
news. She awaited her father with a thrill of unusual expecta- 
tion and joy. She saw him approach the house, when, lo! a 
stranger came with him. 

But Eric, before Daland's arrival, had pressed his suit and 
asked Senta for her heart. She pointed to the face of the 
Flying Dutchman on the wall, when Eric told her of a dream 
that he had had, and of his heart's sorrow. 

The stranger was the Flying Dutchman ; and the wanderer 
of the seas knew the beautiful maiden, and she knew him, 
although they had never met before. 

The Flying Dutchman avowed his love for Senta, and she 
announced herself to be his deliverer. Both were happy. 

But amid the happiness and hope Eric came back to plead 
once more with the maiden. The interview was one of agony, 
and in the midst of it Vanderdecken chanced to come upon the 
scene. Seeing the distress of the two, he believed that Senta 
was untrue to him, and that he was destined again to drift over 
the seas. 

With a crushed heart, he ordered his ship to sea again, and 
the red sails went out with the tide. 

When Senta found that he was sailing, she attempted to 



48 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

follow him. The last scene is like that of Dido and iEneas. 
Senta ascended a high rock,and watched the disappearing red sails. 

" I will die true to him," she said, and plunged into the sea. 

The spell was broken. The phantom ship went down with 
a thunder crash, and the sailors drifted upon the sea. The 
dying Captain was borne on the tide into the arms of the dying 
Senta, and their souls entered together the portals of immortal 
hope. 



KING FREDERICK AND THE IRISH GIANT. 

A queer and testy man was Frederick William I., the second 
king of Prussia, and the father of the renowned monarch, Fred- 
erick the Great. He ascended the 'throne in 1713. 

He assembled and drilled a great army in time of peace. 
He was very proud of their numbers and discipline, and among 
his queer ambitions was one that was very odd indeed. He 
desired to have a certain corps of soldiers that should consist 
wholly of giants. 

So lie sent his agents all over Europe giant-hunting. 

A difficult task the agents had, for giants were not so numerous 
in Europe as they are supposed to have been in very ancient 
times, before history was written. But one of them met with 
good fortune, as you shall presently be told. 

One day, as one of the Prussian recruiting-sergeants was 
visiting London in search of tall men for Frederick's service, 
his attention was called to a crowd in the streets. 

He entered the crowd curiously, and to his amazement and 
delight he there found on exhibition the tallest man he had ever 
seen. 

The man was an Irish giant. His head was covered with 
thick yellow hair; his shoulders were broad. He rose above 
the crowd like a tower anions' houses. 



KING FREDERICK AND THE IRISH GIANT. 40 

lie had come to England to seek work. He was now out of 
money, but lie was still good-natured and merry. Fat people 
usually are cheerful, whatever may be their condition. 

The recruiting-sergeant elbowed his way through the crowd, 
greatly excited thus to rind the very man he had been so 
diligently looking for. 

He laid his hand on the Irishman's sleeve. 

"Come with me, come with me ! I'm a soldier myself, and 
I am always ready to help a comrade in distress." 

" But Oi 'm not a soldier." 

'* Are n't you ? Why, you look like every inch a soldier ; any 
man would take you for one. You ought to be a soldier, sure. 
But never mind that. Come and dine with me." 

" That I will," said Pat, " and ye need not be after axing me 
twice." 

The Irishman's appetite was as great as his body, and when 
lie was well filled with a liberal meal, he was always credulous 
and jolly and easy to be persuaded. 

" You are a fine fellow.'* said the sergeant ; " a wonderfully 
tine fellow. Did you never think of turning soldier ? " 

" An' what should I turn soldier for?" 

" For honor and glory." 

" A cannon ball would n't be apt to miss me, sure ; and what 
good would honor and glory do me, when my head was gone, 
clane gone intirely ? " 

" For money." 

" How much ? " 

"I will offer you a safe position in the Prussian life-guards. 
The king, I am sure, would pay four hundred pounds down for 
a strapping fellow like you."" 

" Four hundred pounds ! Four hundred pounds ! Do I hear 
my own ears ? Faix, I will not be long in choosing. Pat 
O'Flannigan is the boy for yez." 

" Good. Can you speak German ? " 

4 



50 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



" German, is it ? Dutcli-like ? sorra a word of German can I 
spake, if it were to save my life from the hangman." 

" Well, no matter. Three sentences are all you need to 
know. I can teach yon them." 
" What be thez ? " 

" When the king first sees you in the 
ranks he will come to you and say, — 
" l How old are you ? ' " 
" An' what shall I say ? " 
" ' Twenty-seven years.' 

" Then he will 
ask you how long 
you have been in 
the service." 

" An' what will 
I say thin ? " 

" ' Three 
weeks.' 

"Then he will 
say, — 

" ' Are you pro- 
vided with clothes 
and rations,' and 
you will answer, — 
« ' Both.' " 

" I think my head will hold that much." 
" I will try you. How old are you ? " 
" Twenty-seven years." 
the irish giaxt. « How long have you been in the 

service ? " 
" Three weeks." 

" Are you provided with clothes and rations? " 
« Both." 

On the journey to Berlin the sergeant asked the happy recruit 
these questions daily. ■ He answered promptly and correctly. 





KING FREDERICK AND THE IRISH GIANT. 51 

About three weeks after his arrival, he appeared on parade in 
the corps of giants for the first time. There were Arabs and 
Danes, and Moors and Swedes in the brigade; giants from 
almost all the countries of Europe, — but Pat stood like a Saul 
among them all. 

The king saw him, and his face shone. 

He beckoned to him to step forward. 

Pat stepped forward proudly, and presented arms. 

"I haven't seen you before," said the king. "How long- 
have you been in the service? 

k> Twenty-seven years." 

The king stared. 

"Twenty-seven years! [should have known it, had you 
been in the service a week. How old are you'.'"' 

" Three weeks" 

"Three weeks! and been in the service twenty-seven years." 

The king turned purple with rage. 

"Do you think I am a fool, or are you one yourself ?" he 
shouted. 

" Both." 

"Seize that fellow! " said the king, looking as though he was 
going to burst. " Off with him to the guard-house ! " 

Pat remonstrated in Irish, which was not understood. Hon- 
or and glory and even money all looked cheap enough to him 
now, and he wished himself back on good old English soil. 

The officer of the guard happened to know Pat's German 
acquirements, and he at once rightly guessed the situation, 
when the poor recruit was marched to the guard-house. He 
explained the whole matter to the king, who, for once, had a 
laugh that relaxed his usually clouded face. 

The recruit was at once set at liberty. 

"Faix," said Pat O'Flannigan, " niver pretind to know what 
ye don't know: else it is a whoppin' big blunder ye '11 be after 
gettin' into." 



52 ZIGZAG STORIES. 



THE MESSAGE OF LIFE. 



Twenty years ago I was one of many witnesses of a scene 
that has left upon my memory an impress perhaps deeper than 
that of any other occurrence of that stirring time. The sequel 
of the story, which I learned some months afterwards, is nar- 
rated here with the principal event ; and both together deserve 
a larger audience than any that has yet heard them, because 
they touch the heart and arouse those feelings of sympathy 
which make the whole world kin. 

It was in February, 1865. I was a staff-officer of a division 
of the Union Army stationed about Winchester, Virginia ; and 
military operations being then practically over in that region, I 
had succeeded in getting leave of absence for twenty days. The 
time was short enough, at best, for one Avho had been long 
absent from family and friends, and two days were to be con- 
sumed each way in getting to and from my Northern home. 
I lost no time in making the first stage of my journey, 
which was a brief one, from Winchester to Harper's Ferry, by 
rail. 

Reaching the latter place after dark, I found, to my great dis- 
appointment, that the last train for the day for Baltimore had 
left an hour before, and that the next train would start at five 
o'clock on the following morning. 

There was no difficulty in finding a lodging, poor as it was ; 
but there was trouble in getting out of it as early as I wished. 
Previous experience warned me that the state of agreeable 
excitement and anticipation that possessed me that night was 
not favorable to sleep ; and fearing a heavy slumber in the early 
hours of the morning, when I should at last lose myself, I gave 
a small reminder to the negro servant, and received his solemn 
promise that he would arouse me at four o'clock. 



THE MESSAGE OF LIFE. 53 

The result was exactly what I feared. In a most exasperat- 
ing condition of wakefulness I lay until it seemed certain that 
the night must be half gone; but an examination of my watch 
by the light of a match showed that the hour was but a few 
minutes past ten. Is there anything more annoying than the 
ineffectual effort to sleep, when Nature is fairly crying out for 
sleep? Every noise of the night came to me with the most 
painful distinctness, — the barking of a dog, the tramp of a 
body of soldiers as they went their rounds relieving guard, the 
laugh and song of some boisterous revellers, and even the musi- 
cal ripple of the Shenandoah River just below me. 

The long and vivid story of what had happened to me since 
last leaving home passed through my thoughts, and only added 
to their excitement. All the wise remedies for insomnia that 
occurred to me were successively tried, and found wanting. 
Again my watch was consulted; it marked half-past eleven. 
Twice after this I heard the guard relieved ; so that it must 
have been later than two o'clock when sleep visited my weary 
eyes. A rude disturbance at my door awakened me, and I 
became dimly conscious of the voice of the negro outside. 

"What is it? "I cried testily. '•What do you wake me up 
for at this time of night ? " 

kk 'Deed, sah, Ise sorry ; 'pon my honah, I is, sah ! but de 
train hab done gone dese two hours." 

It was even so. Broad daylight — seven o'clock in the morn- 
ing — the train gone, and no chance to get out of Harper's Ferry 
till twelve more precious hours of my leave had passed, — ■ this 
was the unpleasant situation to which I awoke upon that dreary 
February morning. To make the best of it, is the true philoso- 
phy of life ; in fact, it is folly to do anything else ; but human 
nature will assert itself, and I grumbled all to myself that morn- 
ing, as most of my readers would have done in my place. 

Breakfast over, I strolled around the queer old place, not to 
see its siq-hts, for thev were very familiar to me, but merelv to 



54 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

while away the time. Of all the places in this land where man 
has made his habitation, none is more remarkable from its natural 
situation than this. 

Here the Potomac and the Shenandoah unite and break 
through the lofty barrier of the Blue Ridge ; and Harper's 
Ferry, located at the point of their confluence, is environed by 
lofty mountains, up the steep side of one of which the village 
seems to clamber and cling for support. From the lofty top of 
Maryland Heights, opposite, a wonderful natural panorama may 
be seen; and of this view Thomas Jefferson wrote that it was 
worth a journey from Europe to see it. But if you are set 
down in Harper's Ferry, at the base of these great hills, your 
view is cramped and circumscribed in every direction. 

I went back to the hotel after an hour's stroll, wrote some 
letters, read all the newspapers I could find about the place, and 
shortly after eleven o'clock went out again. This time my ear 
was greeted with the music of a , band, playing a slow march- 
Several soldiers were walking briskly past, and I inquired of 
them if there was to be a military funeral. 

" No, sir," one of them replied, — " not exactly. It is an 
execution. Two deserters from one of the artillery regiments 
here are to be shot up on Bolivar Heights. Here they come ! " 

The solemn strains of the music were heard near at hand, 
and the cortege moved into the street where we stood, and wound 
slowly up the hill. First came the band ; then General Steven- 
son, the military commandant of the post, and his staff; then 
the guard, preceding and following an ambulance, in which 
were the condemned men. A whole regiment followed, march- 
ing by platoons, with reversed arms, making in the whole a 
spectacle than which nothing can be more solemn. 

Close behind it came, as it seemed to me, the entire popula- 
tion of Harper's Ferry, — a motley crowd of several thousand, 
embracing soldiers off duty, camp-fellows, negroes, and what 
not. It was a raw, damp day, not a ray of sunlight had yet 



THE MESSAGE OF LIFE. 55 

penetrated the thick clouds, and under foot was a thin coating 
of snow. Nature seemed in sympathy with the misery of the 
occasion. 

The spot selected for the dreadful scene was rather more than 
a mile up the Heights, where a high ridge of ground formed a 
barrier for bullets that might miss their mark. Arrived here, 
the troops were formed in two large squares of one rank each, 
one square within the other, with an open face toward the ridge. 
Two graves had been dug near this ridge, and a coffin was just 
in the rear of each grave. Twenty paces in front was the firing- 
party of six files, under a lieutenant, at ordered arms ; the gen- 
eral and his staff sat on their horses near the centre. 

Outside the outer square, the great crowd of spectators stood 
in perfect silence. The condemned men had been brought from 
the ambulance, and each one sat on his coffin, with his open 
grave before him. 

They were very different in their aspect. One, a man of 
more than forty years, showed hardly a trace of feeling in his 
rugged face ; but the other was a mere lad, of scarcely twenty, 
who gazed about him with a wild, restless look, as if he could 
not yet understand that he was about to endure the terrible 
punishment of his offence. 

The proceedings of the court-martial were read, reciting the 
charges against these men, their trial, conviction, and sentence; 
and then the order of General Sheridan approving the sentence, 
" to be shot to death with musketry," and directing it to be 
carried into effect at twelve o'clock noon of this day. The 
whole scene was passing immediately before my eyes; for a 
staff-uniform will pass its wearer almost anywhere in the army, 
and I had passed the guards and entered the inner square. 

A chaplain knelt by the condemned men and prayed fervently, 
whispered a few words in the ear of each, wrung their hands, 
and retired. Two soldiers stepped forward with handkerchiefs 
to bind the eyes of the sufferers, and I heard the officer of the 



56 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

firing-party give the command in a low tone : " Attention ! — ■ 
shoulder — arms i " 

I looked at my watch ; it was a minute past twelve. The 
crowd outside had been so perfectly silent that a nutter and 
disturbance running through it at this instant fixed everybody's 
attention. My heart gave a great jump as I saw a mounted 
orderly urging his horse through the crowd, and waving a yel- 
low envelope over his head. 

The squares opened for him, and he rode in and handed the 
envelope to the general. Those who were permitted to see that 
despatch read the following : — 

Washington, D. C, Feb. 23, 1865. 
General Job Stevenson, Harper's Ferry. 

Deserters reprieved till further orders. Stop the execution. 

A. Lincoln. 

The older of the two men had so thoroughly resigned himself 
to his fate that he seemed unable now to realize that he was 
saved, and he looked around him in a dazed, bewildered way. 

Not so the other ; he seemed for the first time to recover his 
consciousness. He clasped his hands together, and burst into 
tears. As there was no military execution after this at Harper's 
Ferry, I have no doubt that the sentence of both was finally 
commuted. 

Powerfully as my feelings had been stirred by this scene, I 
still suspected that the despatch had in fact arrived before the 
cortege left Harper's Ferry, and that all that happened afterward 
was planned and intended as a terrible lesson to these culprits. 

That afternoon I visited General Stevenson at his headquar- 
ters, and after introducing myself, and referring to the morning 
scene on Bolivar Heights, I ventured frankly to state my sus- 
picions, and ask if they were not well-founded. 

"Not at all," he instantly replied. "The men would have 
been dead had that despatch reached me two minutes later." 



THE MESSAGE OF LIFE. 59 

" Were you not expecting a reprieve, general ? " 
" I had some reason to expect it last night ; but as it did not 
come, and as the line was reported down between here and 
Baltimore this morning, I had given it up. Still, in order to 
give the fellows every possible chance for their lives, I left 
a mounted orderlyat the telegraph office, with orders to ride at 
a gallop if a message came for me from Washington. It is well 
I did ! — the precaution saved their lives." 

How the despatch came to Harper's Ferry must be told in 
the words of the man who got it through : — 

On the morning of the 24th of February, 1865, I was busy 
at my work in the Baltimore Telegraph Office, sending and 
receiving messages. At half-past ten o'clock, — for I had 
occasion to mark the hour, — the signal C — A — L, several 
times repeated, caused me to throw all else aside, and attend 
to it. 

That was the telegraphic cipher of the War Department; 
and telegraphers, in those days, had instructions to put that 
service above all others. A message was quickly ticked off 
from the President to the commanding officer at Harper's Ferry, 
reprieving two deserters who were to be shot at noon. The 
message was dated the day before, but had in some way been 
detained or delayed between the Department and the Wash- 
ington office. 

A few words to the Baltimore office, which accompanied the 
despatch, explained that it had " stuck " at Baltimore ; that an 
officer direct from the President w r as waiting at the Washington 
office, anxious to hear that it had reached Harper's Ferry, and 
that Baltimore must send it on instantly. 

Baltimore would have been very glad to comply; but the 
line to Harper's Ferry had been interrupted since daylight, — 
nothing whatever had passed. So I explained to Washington. 

The reply came back before my fingers had left the Lustra- 



60 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

me nt. " You must get it through. Do it, some way, for Mr. 
Lincoln. He is very anxious ; has just sent another messenger 
to us." 

I called the office-superintendent to my table, and repeated 
these despatches to him. He looked at the clock. 

"Almost eleven," he said. "I see just one chance, — a very 
slight one. Send it to New York ; ask them to get it to Wheel- 
ing, and then it may get through by Cumberland and Martins- 
burg. Stick to 'em, and do what you can." 

By this time I had become thoroughly aroused in the busi- 
ness, and I set to work with a will. The despatch with the 
explanation went to New York, — and promptly came the reply 
that it was hopeless ; the wires were crowded, and nothing 
could be done till late in the afternoon, if then. 

I responded just as Washington had replied to me. It must 
be done ; it is a case of life and death ; do it for Mr. Lincoln's 
sake, who is very anxious about it. And I added for myself, 
by way of emphasis, " For God's sake, let 's save these poor 
fellows ! " 

And I got the New York people thoroughly aroused as I was 
myself. The answer came back, " Will do what we can." 

It was now ten minutes past eleven. In ten minutes more 
I heard from New York that the despatch had got as far as 
Buffalo, and could not go direct to Wheeling ; it must go on to 
Chicago. 

Inquiries from Washington were repeated every five minutes, 
and I sent what had reached me. 

Half-past eleven the despatch was at Chicago, and they were 
working their best to get it to Wheeling. 

Something was the matter ; the Wheeling office did not 
answer. 

The next five minutes passed without a word ; then — huzza ! 
— New York says the despatch has reached Wheeling, and the 
operator there says he can get it through to Harper's Ferry in time. 



LEGEND OF FIRST DISCOVERER OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 61 

At this point the news stopped. New York could learn 
nothing further for me, after several efforts, and I could only 
send to Washington that 1 hoped it was all right, but could 
not be sure. 

Later in the day the line was working again to Harper's 
Ferry, and then 1 learned that the despatch had reached the 
office there at ten minutes before twelve, and that it was 
brought to the place of execution just in time. 



A STRANGE LEGEND OF THE FIRST DIS- 
COVERER OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 

" The country of gold lies before you ; but there are dark 
rivers to cross. I have learned these things from living among 
the caciques." 

The Spaniard who uttered these words to Fernando de Soto 
was stately and handsome, of middle age, and of unquestioned 
bravery. 

" I am sure that I can pilot you there." 

The cavalier gazed upon him. 

" You were left here in this land of Florida on the first ex- 
pedition," said De Soto. " That was ten years ago." 

"Yes." 

" And you have come to love these children of Nature and 
the palm-lands?" 

" Yes, Senor. Why have you brought these bloodhounds and 
these chains ? " 

" To hold kings captive, as I have done before ; to conquer 
new Incas, and to guard them in their own temples. You say 
that the temples of gold are on the hills of the Ocali." 

" I said that there were dark rivers to cross." 

" But what Indian girl is this that follows you ? " 



62 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



" She is the daughter of a cacique and my wife." 
" You must leave her behind." 

" She saved my life. Listen ! My name is Ortiz, and I am 
a trusty soldier. When I found myself left by the expedition, 
I sought the friendship of the cacique. The old chief pitied 
me, and received me as his son. I found him more humane 
than our own people had been. I was happy for a time ; but 
these children of the palm-lands are jealous and superstitious, 
and they at last began to distrust me and look upon me as 

dangerous, and they sought to kill me. 
I was brought before a council of their 
wise men, and was condemned to die. 
The cacique pitied me still, and sought 
to save me ; but the wise men were all 
against me. 

" The day for my death was appointed. 
I was to be tortured. A scaffold was 
built over fagots that were to be made 
sacrificial fires. 1 was to be stretched 
upon this scaffold, and to perish at a 
fire-dance. 

" The day came. I was led out, and 
tied to the trees of the scaffold. The fires were kindled under 
me, and the dance began. The painted savages circled around 
me to the sound of war-drums and the blowing of shells. May 
you never suffer such tortures as I then was made to feel I The 
tongues of flame pierced my naked body like swords. My 
nerves crept in agony. I thought of Spain, of my kindred and 
my old home. I cried out for water. 

" The daughter of the cacique heard my cry. She fell down 
before her father, and begged him to spare my life. The 
cacique loved this beautiful girl. He listened to her; he ap- 
peased the tribe, and unbound me, and gave me to the tender 
princess as her slave. 




LEGEND OF FIRST DISCOVERER OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 63 

"She came to love me, as I served her faithfully. I arose to 
honor among the people. I love this people ; and if I leave 
my wife here, I must return to her again. 1 must be true to 

her on the honor of a conquistador." 

Fernando de Soto was a proud man. He had come from the 




DB SOTO S EXPEDITION IN FLORIDA. 



conquest of the incarial realms, and his own share of the cap- 
tured wealth had been millions. He had landed near Tampa, 
with a cavalcade of golden cavaliers. He did not doubt that 
another Peru lay before him. 

The conquistadors, under the lead of Ortiz, marched up the 
hills of the Ocali. The land blazed in the pure white sunlight ; 
but no golden domes gleamed in the sun. 

They chained caciques, and hunted the chief men of the 
region with the bloodhounds. They compelled captive chiefs 



64 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



to guide them from one tribe to another. De Soto made slave 
wives of beautiful princesses, and amid all his cruelty and 
wrong-doing compelled masses to be said. 

" The hills of the Ocali are not Peru," he said to Ortiz. 
" I said that there were dark rivers to cross." 
The conquistadors moved on. They came to dark rivers and 

cypress swamps. One 
after another of the 
golden cavaliers began 
to sicken and die. 

" There are indeed 
dark rivers to cross," 




DE SOTO SEEING THE MISSIS- 
SIPPI FOR THE FIRST TIME. 



The palm lances burned in the feverish heats. But the thirst 
for gold led the conquistadors on. They came at last to the 
banks of a majestic river. The volume of water showed that 
it must be long. Masses were said. The visions of De Soto 
were revived again : " The river is dark and long." 

They crossed it, and lay down under the live-oaks streaming 
with moss. The air was full of birds. There was beauty every- 
where ; but in all the brightness lurked poison, — the men sick- 
ened and died. 



LEGEND OF FIRST DISCOVERER OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 65 

But the expedition moved on. The river that they had seen, 
and discovered to be dark and long, was the Mississippi. Tn 
the fevered palm-shades appeared no temples or inearial palaces. 

They came at last to the dark land of cypresses through which 
flows the Lied River of the South. Here De Soto himself began 
to feel the chill that had swept so many of the other adventurers 
away. 

He lay down amid burning heats, and was cold. 

" Ortiz, there are still dark rivers to cross ?" 

" Yes, cavalier ; dark rivers lie in the way to the cities of 
gold/' 

De Soto shook. "The fever is on me." 

He lay burning and freezing in the cypress swamps. Prayers 
were said, and the fiery days moved on. The sun rose in tire, 
and set in what looked to he the conflagration of the world. 
De Soto became oblivions to all. The fires of the fever were 
consuming him. One flaming sunrise came, and he was 
dead. 

" He has crossed the dark river," said Ortiz. They hollowed 
a log for his body. But the savages were watching them. 
They could not give the conquistador a burial that would 
be undisturbed on the land, even amid the gray-bearded 
cypresses. 

"Let us sink him for his final rest in the dark river." said 
Ortiz. 

They did so by night, Torches gleamed : silent prayers 
were said. There were low beatings of oars; a rest in the 
black river under the moon and stars; a splash : the dark river 
opened, and a body went down. It was De Soto's. 

In a white temple in Havana, which is only opened once a 
year, the picture of De Soto maybe seen among the heroes of 
the Great Discovery. On the 14th of November — Columbus 
Day in Cuba — a great procession leaves the old faded cathe- 
dral, in the wall of the altar of which Columbus's remains are 

5 



GQ 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



entombed, and amid chanting choirs, military music, and the 
booming of the guns from the Castle, march to this white 
temple, and here glorias are chanted, and thanksgivings said. 
The procession moves through the chapel, which is shaded by 
a tree which is supposed to be a remnant of the grove where 
Columbus himself stood. They look upon the pictured faces 




BURIAL OF DE SOTO. 



of the conquistadors on that one day ; and the American, who 
follows the banners and music, gazes also, and wishes in his 
heart that some of these heroes whose bravery rendered such 
services to his country had been better men. Character is 
everything. 



A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY. 67 



A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY. 

Axtoinh was one day stopping near the Falls of St. Anthony, 
when he met some Indians who had come to sacrifice to the 
god of the place. They told him of a lake some miles distant, 
where they said lived a young hermit who did not grow old. 
He asked them to conduct him to the hermit's lodge. 

They led him to a beautiful lake full of peninsulas and islands. 
On the shores there were mounds, and among these mounds 
Antoine was surprised to rind a young and exceedingly hand- 
some Spanish cavalier. 

Antoine demanded of him, — 

"Who are you that thus trespass on the dominions of his 
Majesty, the King of France ? " 

" The world is wide," answered the cavalier, in French. " 1 i 
I could have my wish I would not trespass upon any earthly 
dominion, but would gladly leave this burden of flesh and be 
with my wife and children, whose spirits live in more blessed 
spheres than this." 

"You seem to be a very young man." 

" T am hundreds of years old." 

" How can that be ? " 

"I accompanied Jean Ponce de Leon to Porto Rico. T was 
then thirty years old. When De Leon resigned the office of 
Governor of Porto Rico he had begun to grow old. 

"There came to him some Indian sages who told him of the 
Fountain of Youth. 

" De Leon never discovered that fountain. / did." 

" When and where ? " 

" Listen. 

"After I heard the story of the sages, I continually longed 
to plunge into the waters of that gifted fountain, and thus be 



68 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



enabled to live forever amid, "the noble and beautiful scenes of 
these newly discovered lands. 

" I left De Leon on April 3, 1512. About a week before, he 
had discovered a new land that was whollv covered with flowers. 




He took possession of it in the 
name of Castilian sovereigns, 
and called it Florida. It 
seemed to me that such a para- 
dise must contain the fountain 
of which the Indians had told, 
and I resolved never again to go 
on board of the ships. I de- 
serted as soon as I could sepa- 
rate myself from the commander. 
I did not find the fountain in 
that flowery land. 

" Then I began to wander. I passed along the coast, first 
towards the north, then towards the west, then towards the 
south. I came at last to a land full of ruins ; it was beautiful 
beyond description ; it seemed to have been a home of the 
gods. 

" Fountains were there, water-gods, naiads, and beautiful 



THE SPANISH CAVALIER. 



.1 REMARKABLE DISCOVERY. (19 

temples, under the tropic trees. I bathed in them. I bathed in 
every fountain I met, and 1 dipped myself in the Fountain of 
Youth." 

« Where ? " 

"I cannot tell; nor can I tell which of the hundred fountains 
in which I bathed was the magical fountain. One of them was, 
for I have never grown old. 

"Thirty years passed, when I saw on the coast a Spanish 
vessel. I hailed her and was taken on board. 1 returned to 
Andalusia, to the Gaudalquivir. 

*'My wife was old and withered. My children were seem- 
ingly older than myself ; they were gray. J told them my 
story; they treated me with derision, and forced me away from 
my own home. 

"Then one by one they died. I saw the grave open again 
and again until all my family were gone. I longed to go, too. 
But I did not grow old. 

" I returned to America. I wished to flee from my land, 
from society, from the face of man. I again deserted, and 
ascended a great and unknown river. I left my canoe at 
yonder falls. It went into decay a hundred years ago. I found 
this beautiful lake and these green mounds in summer time. 
J was sure society would never find me here, and here I built 
my lodge and live. 

" The beautiful summers and the cold winters come and go, 
but I see only the faces of the red men. I am never hungry; I 
am never cold. I have but one wish ; it haunts me continually: 
I would that I could die." 

The young coureurs de hois listened to the tale with intense 
interest, and some of them plied every possible inquiry in 
regard to what the hermit had said of the country where the 
magical fountain had been found. 

Four of these young men went into the forest and were never 
heard of again. 



70 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

From time to time the visitors to Lake Mimietonka have seen 
a strange figure in a boat on the lake. The oars of the boat fly 
from them like wings. Should you see a flying boatman on the 
lake, if you do not believe him to be the Spanish cavalier, you 
may still allow this story to recall to your mind the old historic 
associations of beautiful Minneapolis. 



AUNT HEART DELIGHT'S BEAU. 

One late autumn evening, during the exciting scenes of the 
witchcraft delusion in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, there 
came running into the primitive church of Weymouth, Mass., 
during a special evening service, a boy by the name of Ichabod 
Cole. His hat was gone, his breath spent. He threw his arms 
aloft in nervous excitement, and his entrance stopped the meet- 
ing, as he had evidently something thrilling to tell. ' 

As soon as he could speak, he made a declaration that a 
terrible creature had appeared to him as he was hurrying along 
over the wooded Weymouth road by the sea toward his home. 
He believed that the creature was the tk Black Man," as the Evil 
Spirit was at that time called, and he had fled to the church for 
refuge. 

Were such an incident to happen to-day, a boy's story 
would be met only with ridicule ; but then nearly every one 
believed in witchcraft, and many persons had been sent to 
prison and several put to death in the colony on the charge that 
they had signed their names to a book brought to them by the 
" Black Man," and had met in witch circles in the forests, to 
which it was asserted they travelled through the air. Giles 
Corey, of Salem Farms, had been recently put to death in a 
most cruel manner for refusing to plead in court to an amazing 
charge of this kind. Several enfeebled old women had suf- 



AUNT UK ART DELIGHT'S HE AC. 71 

fered death under the (.lunge of witchcraft in Salem and 
Boston. 

The delusion had begun with children, who seemed to have 
been seized with a sudden mania for accusing queer and un- 
fortunate people of dealing in wicked arts. The mania spread, 
and became a mental epidemic. It was like the convulsions of 
the Barkers and the .Jerkers, an epidemic nervous disease, 
which appeared at another time in the colony. Any one who 
will read Cotton Mather's •• Wonders of the Invisible World " 
will be amazed at the delusion that tilled the whole colony at 
the time, and that overcame the judgment even of the magis- 
trates. Such was the state of the public feeling when the inci- 
dent we have given happened. 

There was a break in the meeting, and the boy was ques- 
tioned by excited voices in regard to the creature that had 
frightened him. He could only say that it was black or gray, 
and had eyes like tire. The good old minister, a man much 
loved for his great heart and simple, blameless life, said. k * Evil 
times have fallen upon us also." All saw that he literally 
believed Ichabod Cole's story, and a sense of helpless horror 
and apprehension darkened every mind and sank into every 
heart in that congregation. 

Strange as it may seem, it is probable that in that little 
assembly, holding its simple service by candle-light, there was 
only one person who did not believe that the boy, Ichabod Cole, 
had not seen the famous •• Black Man." the Evil Ghost of the 
troubled times. 

That one person was Aunt Heart Delight. A queer name, 
you will say. Yes, now. but it was not queer at that time. 
Prudence, Piety, and Charity were common names then, as 
were Experience, Love. Hope, and Grace. Aunt Heart Delight 
was so called by her venerable father on account of her cheerful 
disposition when a little child. 

Aunt Heart Delight Holden had grown up to womanhood 



(2 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

a tall, stately woman, with a broad, high forehead and a heart 
given to benevolence. She was very devout, but was without 
superstition ; and she clearly saw that the so-called witchcraft 
in the colony was a mental delusion. 

The meeting closed. Aunt Heart Delight went to the boy 
at once, laid her hand upon his shoulder, and bent upon him her 
serene face and quieting eye. 

" Oh, Ichabod, Ichabod," she said, " you too have lost your 
head. You have seen nothing but what is perfectly natural and 
can be accounted for. But you did not lose your heels, did yon, 
boy?" .; 

" My heels ! .Wot would I hev done had I lost my heels ? " 

" You have seen a wildcat, or an owl in a hawk's nest, or 
some such thiiig ; and the stories that are abroad have so 
excited your head that you think you have seen something- 
else. I would be willing to face it with a good dog and gun. 
,But I do not blame you for running as you were unarmed." 

The people went out of the church reluctantly, as if afraid 
to venture into the open air. The hunter's moon was rising 
yellow over the sea, glimmering on the middle waters of the 
bay, and hiding in her own light the blue fields of the stars. 
The great oaks were dropping their leathery leaves, and the 
walnuts and chestnuts were breaking their shells and burrs. 
There was silence in Nature everywhere, and a forest odor was 
in the air. In the far woods was heard the hoot of the owl, and 
in the distance the bark of a farm dog ; except for these sounds 
the air was painfull}* still. 

The excited people thought it prudent not to return to their 
homes by the road where the mysterious object had been seen, 
so they took a circuitous path through the woodlands. The 
way led to the homes of most of the people, but in an opposite 
direction from those of serene Aunt Heart Delight and the 
terrified boy, Ichabod Cole. 

Aunt Heart Delight lived in a part of Weymouth which 



AUNT HEART DELIGHTS BEAU. 73 

became known as New Spain, on account of the wealth which 
Lad been gathered there by the old sea-traders, and Ichabod 
Cole dwelt on a branch road within a mile of the same 
place. 

For a short distance the same road was followed by all the 
conoTegation, and as the colonists passed along through the 
woodland, they continued to ply Ichabod with cpaestions about 
the mysterious creature that he had seen. Ichabod's imagina- 
tion worked more vigorously as he saw that his answers were 
awaited with thrilling interest. 

"How large was the creature?" asked credulous Deacon 
Alden. " As large as a dog, Ichabod ? " 

"As large as a dog?" said Ichabod. '* He was large as an 
— elephant ! "' 

This was before the days of the itinerant menagerie, and 
Ichabod had never seen an elephant; but he knew that the 
elephant was a very large animal. 

" What kind of a tree was he in ? " asked Aunt Delight. 

"A tall pine-tree. I guess that he had just lighted. His 
eyes were like coals of tire. Oh, it was awful ! " 

A creature as big as an elephant, with eyes like fire, that had 
alighted on a tall pine-tree, was a picture indeed to which the 
adjective " awful " might not inaptly apply. And the awe- 
struck company that heard this grotesque narrative presented 
a quaint appearance in the old Weymouth woods. The men 
had lanterns of perforated tin in their hands, and the women 
foot-stoves. The men wore pointed hats and thick capes, and 
the women broad bonnets and plain cloaks. The lanterns were 
not lighted, for the bright moon, like a night sun, made the 
woods almost as clear as in daylight. 

They came to a clearing, and here Aunt Heart Delight and 
Ichabod, parting from the rest of the mentally afflicted company, 
took the direct road to " New Spain.'' 

*' I am afraid," said Aunt Heart Delight, "that there may be 



74 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

some wild animal lurking about in the woods, and that that is 
what you saw." 

" I am not afraid of no animal," said Ichabod, " I am afraid 
of something worse than that." He looked up to Aunt Heart 
Delight, furtively. " Ain't you?" 

" No. A person with a clear conscience has nothing to fear 
from any other world than this." 

Ichabod was silenced, but his imagination was glowing and 
growing. The falling of a chestnut made him start. A rabbit 
that ran across the road filled him with renewed terror. They 
came near to the old farmhouses, and the barns with the stacks 
of corn-husks. Here their ways parted. 

* k Good-night, Ichabod," said Aunt Heart Delight. 

The two stood in the open road under the full moon. 

" Aunt Heart Delight," said Ichabod, " may I ask you a, 
question?" His voice was grave, like that of a judge, very 
'grave and measured. 

"Yes, Ichabod. What?" 

" Aunt Heart Delight, oh, this is an awful night ! the moon 
and stars and everything all so scarey ! Aunt Heart Delight, 
may I ask you a question?" he repeated. 

" Yes, yes, do not keep me here freezing to death. What is 
it, Ichabod?" 

" Aunt Heart Delight," said the boy at length, timidly, " did 
you ever have a beau ? " 

" Oh, Ichabod ! " 

" May I see you home, and won't you give me lodging in 
the barn ? " 

" Oh, I see, — you are afraid to go home alone. Well, I pity 
you, and I '11 go home with you." 

" I '11 be your beau," said Ichabod, with spirit, an awful 
burden rolling off his heart. 

Aunt Heart Delight went home with him, and left him at 
the door with a " Good-night, Ichabod. When I want a beau, 
I will send for you." 



AUNT. HEART DELIGHT'S BEAU. To 

"Thank ye, Aunt Heart Delight, and I'll always stick by 
you and protect you whatever may happen." 

Aunt Delight smiled, and then [chabod shut the door, and 
she turned homeward alone. 

Her way lay through some woodland oaks, the strong. 
knotted arms of which had long buffeted the winds of the 
sea. They arched the way between two hills, and through the 
hollow flowed a running brook, now partly ice-bound. A loose 
wall ran beside the road. As Aunt Heart Delight came to the 
place, which was pleasant in summer, but very lonely in winter. 
she heard a stone rattle on the wall. A heavy, dark object 
appeared on the wall, and mounted the great trunk of one of 
the oaks. She was alarmed, as she had reason to be, hut 
hurried by, and came safely to her home. 

These events greatly excited the community. 

But the public mind became gradually more quiet. There 
was a high-minded, clear-sighted man in Boston, named Robert 
Calef, who was an intimate friend of Aunt Heart Delight, and 
had met her often during the prevalence of the witchcraft 
delusion. He was honest and fearless, and his iron words 
became a terror to those who had been engaged in persecuting 
infirm people on the superstitious charge of "Signing the book 
of the Black Man." 

In the terrible clouds of the witchcraft delusion this man had 
walked with undimmed vision. He at last published ;i hook in 
London, which caused those who had been engaged in the 
recent persecutions to ponder upon what they had done, and 
in some cases to tiy to excuse their conduct. The book was 
publicly burned on the green of Harvard College. 

Hearing that Weymouth was in danger from the excitement 
of a delusion, this man went to visit Aunt Heart Delight in her 
lovely Weymouth house. 

"When will this calamity end'/ " he asked of her one day. 

u When some one shall accuse one of the magistrates of witch- 



76 ZIGZAG STORIES, 

craft," said Aimt. '* They will all see the matter clearly 
enough then." 

She was right. The accusing of the wife of one of the 
colonial officers of the crime pierced the darkness. It came 
like a lightning-flash. 

" But what would you do if you were accused ? " said 
Calef. 

" I would compel my accusers to face the facts." 

Calef became persecuted in Boston for his bold words against 
the prevailing superstition ; and Aunt Heart Delight, after 
years of benevolence and good-will, began to feel the chill of 
public disapproval on account of her own views. 

One day she was startled with a report that the boy, Ichabod 
Cole, had accused her of dealing in the black arts. His cun- 
ning story was that she was in secret communication with the 
Black Man that he had seen in the tree, and that was why she 
•did not share the common fear. Soon after she was asked to 
be present at a special meeting of the church, to be questioned 
in regard to the matter. Beautiful and amiable as was her 
character, her spirit was now aroused. She went to the meet- 
ing. It was a winter's night, and she returned home alone. 
No one offered to accompany her. 

There was a light snow on the ground. Near the brook, 
under the great oaks, she saw the same dark object that she 
had met before. A woman of less strength of mind would 
under these circumstances have believed it to be the famous 
Black Man. It followed her. The night was dark with only 
a dim starlight. Suddenly she turned and faced the creature. 
He stopped and retreated. The form was dark and sinewy, 
and the eyes shone like fire. She went on again. The creature 
followed her. 

She faced him again, and afterward recollected that she said, 
" Whoever or whatever you may be, you are no gentleman." 

But the rebuke did not deter the creature from following 



AUNT HEART DELIGHT'S BEAU. 79 

her. She reached home safely, however, and passed the night 
in prayer and tears. 

Morning came, — a beautiful winter morning with sunbeams 
in every crystal of snow. The margin of the great bay glit- 
tered with ice. The stacks rose like white cones around the 
glistening roofs of the barns. Aunt Heart Delight went oul 
at the first red rising of the sun to examine the tracks of the 
creature that had followed her the night before. 

They were plain in the snow. She followed them back until 
she came in sight of the house where lived her " beau," Ichabod 
Cole. She went directly to the house, and gave the door such 
a rap as startled the household. 

Ichabod Cole's father came to the door. He seemed startled 
to see his caller. 

"I want to see the boy." 1 said Aunt Heart Delight, in a hard, 
decisive tone. The man had never before heard her utter an 
unpleasant word. 

Ichabod was sent to the door. He came, trembling. He 
knew that he had started evil reports about the grand woman, 
and lie also knew that she was a person who, though amiable, 
was not to be trifled with. 

She stood there tall and stately in the morning sun. Her 
hair was uncombed, and fell over her shoulders from a quilted 
hood. There was a set look in her usually pacific face that 
would have made any one quail to confront. 

"Ichabod, you promised to be my protector whatever mighl 
happen. There are some tracks out here in the snow that I 
want you to follow. Get your gun and come." 

Ichabod's face was tilled with terror. 

-'Get your gun and come. You are going to be my beau 
now." 

There was something irresistible in the sarcastic command. 
Ichabod obeyed. They came to the tracks. 

" What tracks are those. Ichabod?" 



80 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" I should think that they were — the Black Man's." 

" Then you shall follow them until you find him. Go right 
along." 

" Oh, Aunt Heart Delight ! Suppose they should lead to the 
witches' circle." 

" I am not afraid of any witches' circle. You have been cir- 
culating bad reports about me, Ichabod, and now you shall fol- 
low those tracks until you come to the creature that made them. 
Go ! " 

She pointed her arm out of her cloak. Ichabod dared not 
disobey. The tracks led toward the woods. 

When the two came to the margin of the wood, Ichabod 
looked up to Aunt Heart Delight imploringly. 

" Go right on," she commanded. " Enough innocent people 
have already been thrown into prison on false accusations. You 
would like to go back and tell the people that I have been in 
'conference with the ' Black Man,' and that you have seen his 
tracks. You must go with me now. My character and maybe 
my life are at stake. Go on ! Into the woods. Go ! " 

They followed the tracks. The boy was less afraid of meet- 
ing the animal than of incurring the further displeasure of 
Heart Delight. They came at last to a frozen cranberry bog, in 
the middle of which was a thicket of alder-bushes, and some 
great trunks of decayed trees. The tracks led into the thicket. 

They paused. There was a movement in the bushes. 

" What do you see, Ichabod ? " 

" A beast ; oh, it is awful ! I think it is the very one I saw 
in the tree." 

" Use 3'our musket and kill him." 

" But if I should miss ? " 

" Fire ! You must kill the beast. Fire, I say ! " 

Ichabod, though trembling, took deliberate aim and fired. A 
large, lean creature leaped into the air and fell struggling to the 
ground, and was soon dead. 



THE OLD HOUSE ON CAMBRIDGE COMMON. Hi 

"Is that the beast that you saw on the tree? Is that your 
'Black Man'? It's a catamount, as you see. I will send a 
cart and have it brought to the town. Go!" She held her 
hand aloft and pointed toward his home. 

Calef had been tried in Boston for accusing the magistrates 
of false charges, and the case had been dismissed. People 
began to see the awful mistake that had been made in the 
colony. The people of Weymouth were rilled with humiliation 
at the charge that they had made against Aunt Heart Delight. 
They shunned her for a time, from the very rebuke that the 
dignity of her presence gave them. 

But her beautiful spirit came back. She forgave them all, 
even poor Ichabod Cole, who, to the day of his death, she was 
accustomed to call her " bean," and from the ridicule of which 
appellation he never escaped in the happier days of the colony. 
The top of the world to ye all ! 



THE OLD HOUSE ON CAMBRIDGE COMMON. 

It was in July, 1843, and the evening before Washington 
Allston's funeral. I arrived in Boston late in the afternoon, 
and immediately started for Old Cambridge, where I expected 
to spend several days, attend the memorial service of the poet- 
artist, and witness his interment in the historic churchyard. 

The old house in Cambridge where I was to pass the night 
stood near the colleges, on the very ground where the Shepard 
Memorial Church now stands. 

My friend Kenyon, whom I was to visit, had told me some- 
thing about the place. It had belonged to a family by the name 
of Moore. Deacon Moore was a prominent man in colonial 
days and during the Revolutionary period, and was the treas- 
urer of Dr. Holmes's church, as I shall soon have occasion more 
particularly to explain. 

6 



82 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

I had heard Kenyon say that from the windows of the house 
a crowd of bright eyes had witnessed the cavalcade that con- 
ducted Washington to Cambridge. The old elm stands only a 
little distance from the place under which the young General, 
in 1775, took command of the army. 




DEACOX MOORE S HOUSE. 



Lombard poplars shaded the house in front, if I remember 
rightly, — tall, spectral trees, on which the moonlight was fall- 
ing. There were two porticos, between which the visitor was 
expected to make a choice according to his social rank or sta- 
tion ; at least, it had been so in a former day, and the house 
suggested still a colonial rather than a republican code of eti- 



THE OLD HOUSE ON CAMBRIDGE COMMON. 83 

quette. But I was not obliged to make choice between them, 
as my friend was expecting me, and stood waiting for me in the 
deep, cool shadows before the open door. 

After supper we entered the roomy parlor, where the windows 
were open and the lights turned low, and talked of our school- 
days and old friends who were changed and gone. 

My feelings were somewhat mellowed by the subject. There 
was a stillness about the room, the house, and the colleges, 
which impressed me; and i suddenly recollected that I had 
heard Kenyon say, when we were school chums, that there was 
some strange mystery associated with the place. I reminded 
him of the remark, which began to awaken a deep curiosity in 
my mind, and asked, — 

"Was the mysterious person supposed to be old Deacon 
Moore ? " 

He smiled faintly, and said : " You are tired and nervous, and 
we will pass all that now; these old stories have not been 
revived for years. Nearly every old house in Cambridge that 
outdates the present century has its legend; and this. I believe, 
is no exception to the rule of traditional ghost-lore, but in that 
respect is rather a remarkable estate. But strange old Deacon 
Moore has ceased to walk nights, if indeed he ever was trouble- 
some ; and the mending of outhouses, doors, and fences is now 
left wholly to carpenters. How the story of the deacon's ghostly 
wanderings used to unnerve me when 1 was a boy ! I pity one," 
he continued, "-who is subject to nervous fears. There is one 
room in this house that I used to dread, though I cannot tell 
why. My impressions, I have always noticed, have some asso- 
ciation with reality. This impression — the dread, the fear. I 
used to experience on spending an hour in that room — seems 
to be causeless, and yet I have a feeling that more cause for it 
may yet be discovered. But it will ha idly do to dwell upon 
this subject, for we are to spend the night in that very room. 
There is little danger that the old nervous horror will return 



84 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

upon me again, especially in your company. I used to suffer 
the most from it, if I remember rightly, when my mind was not 
fully occupied, and when I had been excited with much com- 
pany and suddenly left alone. The place was once my study 
and sleeping-room, but I have not slept there now for many 
years. It has been fitted up for me again, while a part of the 
house is undergoing repairs." 

Kenyon rose to go into another room, asking to be excused 
that he might speak with Mr. Gennison before the family 
retired. 

He was gone a long time ; and when he returned, he proposed 
that we should go at once to our room, saying he knew I must 
be tired. 

The room was large, quaint, and old-fashioned ; and there 
was something in the remarks that Kenyon had made that 
immediately interested me in it. 

' It was a still, lovely night ; and the moon, now risen in full 
splendor, covered the colleges and churches like a sea of haze, 
and barred with long lines of light the uncarpeted floor. I do 
not know but the moonlight heightened the effect of Kenyon's 
suggestions of some mysteriousness about the apartment, — 
romance so frequently associates moonlight with what is myste- 
rious ; but, however this may be, my feelings impelled me 
to ask further questions, although the subject had evidently 
become distasteful to my friend now that we were in the 
room. 

" Did you once think the room was haunted ? " I ven- 
tured. 

" No, not exactly that," he said curtly ; " still it used to seem 
to me that there were shapes and objects in it that could be felt 
rather than seen, — something wrong, something that ought not 
to be. There will be many artists and literary men in town 
to-morrow. We hardly appreciated Allston here ; he led such a 
quiet, dignified, retired life." 



THE OLD HOUSE OX CAMBRIDGE COMMON. 85 

" Are there many old houses in Cambridge famous for legends 
or ghost-lore ? " I resumed. 

" Yes ; there was the Vassall house (Longfellow's), and the 
Royal house at Medford, and — " 

" But this house, you said it held a first rank in old colonial 
superstitions, I believe?" 

"Not in colony times, but after that." 

" Was it reported to be haunted ? " 

"Would you sleep more quietly if you knew?" 

"Yes ; truth is better than suspense." 

" After Deacon Moore died some peculations were found to 
have been committed." 

" Well ? " 

" Well, the deacon was a very restless man before he died. 
He had a strange habit of wandering about the premises nights, 
with a hammer or hatchet in his hand, repairing outhouses and 
fences, and making the neighbors very unquiet at unseasonable 
hours.*' 

"Well?" 

" Well, after he died, it was discovered that he had been in 
the habit of appropriating money to his own use from the church 
treasury, and suspicion fell upon his character." 

"Well?" 

"Well, the sounds continued." 

" What sounds ? " 

" Oh, the hammering and the thumping and the driving of 
nails in the night," 

"But you surely do not believe that any such disturbances 
were caused by the disembodied spirit of Deacon Moore ? " 

" No, I do not ; I am not superstitious enough for that. The 
deacon was a very singular man, I am told, especially in his last 
days ; and when suspicion fell upon his character after his 
decease, he was just such a person as superstitious minds would 
at that period expect to return in ghost form to haunt the place. 



86 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

And as his mending of buildings and fences nights was one of 
his most annoying characteristics, it is not strange that natural 
sounds occurring late at night should be attributed to his ham- 
mer. The event caused great excitement in its day, and ner- 
vous people for a long period avoided the place in the night. 

" But," he continued, "although I do not believe any such 
silly stories as the old people used to tell, I do believe in my 
own impressions ; and I have had a fixed impression for years 
that there is something wrong about the place, and when I am 
in my most sensitive moods the mystery seems somehow to be 
associated with this very room. You may think me over-sensi- 
tive and credulous; but I suffered from vague nervous impres- 
sions when I used to occupy the place. I have had an indistinct 
dread of it since I left it, and I would not sleep in it again 
to-night if you were not with me. I would not like to sleep in 
a room where I knew some great crime had been committed -, 
not that I would expect to be troubled by the victims, but 
because I am sensitive to the associations of a place. I would 
rest better in a room where a good man was married than in 
one in which a bad man died. With many it would make no 
difference ; but I cannot help this peculiar element implanted in 
my nature." 

The old Cambridge clock struck the hour of twelve. We 
ceased talking. The wind arose, tossing the newly leaved 
branches of the trees and causing dark shadows to move with an 
uncertain motion across the floor. With an unquiet feeling I 
watched the shadows for a time, and then began to feel the 
sweet influences of sleep. 

The next night Washington Allston was buried in the old 
Cambridge churchyard. Brown, the landscape painter, must 
remember the scene ; he was a pupil of Allston, and, if I re- 
member rightly, was among the torch-bearers when the remains 
were uncovered, and the moon breaking through the clouds 
shone full upon the face of the dead. 



THE OLD HOUSE ON CAMBRIDGE COMMON. S T 

After the funeral I returned to the house, and inquired for 

Kenyon. I found a note from him, saying that he had been 
detained in Boston, and would probably be compelled to remain 
there during the night. 1 am not superstitions; but the vision 
of my sleeping-room and Kenyon's dread impression of it imme- 
diately rose before me, and I am free to confess that I did not 
enjoy the prospect of passing the night alone. 

I was lonesome without Kenyon, was tired, and I went to my 
room soon after returning, thinking I would lounge in a very 
inviting easy-chair, and read until I became too drowsy to be at 
all influenced by the solitariness of the place or my constitu- 
tional nervous fears. I say constitutional nervous fears ; fori, 
like Kenyon, was susceptible to more influences than J could 
see, hear, or define; and I too had observed that impressions 
received when I was highly sensitive almost always found some 
counterpart in reality, or met with some rather remarkable, 
fulfilment. 

It was a partly cloudy night, with an atmosphere full of fra- 
grance, and a glorious moon. The few now living who attended 
Washington Allston's funeral must distinctly remember it, — 
the parting clouds, the shadows anon shutting out the soft 
moonlight, the lights on the college grounds, the still, warm 
air. 

I leaned out of my window, as the first relief from my solitary 
situation. Christ Church broke the view of the churchyard, 
where the poet-artist had just been laid. 

A strange subject forced itself upon my mind, — a subject 
upon which, so far as I know, no books, essays, or poems have 
ever been written, — the fate of the loyal refugees of Boston 
and Cambridge during the Revolutionary War. Some of them 
went to Barbadoes, a few returned to England : but many went 
to Halifax. 

Halifax at that time was a military town, though it had not 
yet become an English fortress. Many of the movements of the 



88 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

English forces against the colonies were directed from Halifax. 
The old provincial parliament of Halifax, a body hostile to the 
American cause, met in 1770, and continued in session four- 
teen years. Halifax then promised to become a great military 
city. 




THE OLD CHURCH IN CAMBRIDGE. 



The Boston and Cambridge royalists, when they incurred 
popular displeasure and found themselves in danger, fled to 
Halifax over the easy water-way. The phrase, "You go to 
Halifax!" as an expression of contempt and a suggestion of 
profanity, became common among rude people. 

Did these royalists ever return? But few of them. The 



THE OLD HOUSE OX CAMBRIDGE COMMON. 89 

democratic feeling was so strong during the period that immedi- 
ately followed the war, that all who had opposed the American 
cause were treated socially as traitors and enemies, and both 
tl itir property and their lives were in danger. At the close of 
the war most of the loyalists who had remained in Boston dur- 
ing the conflict went to Halifax. The old city was largely 
founded by English colonial loyalists and refugees. 

The grand harbor of Halifax made her a naval port, and a 
resort of the old defenders of the Red Cross on land and sea. 
But Halifax has derived her fame and wealth from the peaceful 
fishing- tie Ids that lie spread out around and before her, rather 
than from those of martial achievement. The heroes of her 
ships have been men of peace. 

But to return to my curious narrative. 

I Mas wandering in dreams through the dim vistas of the 
past, catching, as it were, glimpses of forms long faded and 
gone, never to see the July sunshine or the green earth again, 
when a sudden sense of some mysterious influence began to 
steal over me. I can only describe it as a feeling that there 
was something that ought not to be in or about the room. I 
saw nothing, heard nothing; yet there seemed to be near me 
the presence of something impalpable, a dark presence, an at- 
mospheric chill and gloom. " I am growing nervous," I thought ; 
and I flung myself upon the bed. 

Did I dream ? I cannot say. I seemed to be dreaming, and 
yet conscious of my dreams, — to have a double consciousness. 
a double sense of things. The dark impalpable presence seemed 
to descend, and then began a dream or semi-consciousness of 
supposed circumstances that were extraordinary. It seemed as 
if a mason was building a vault under the floor. I -fancied I 
could hear the rattle of bricks, the splash of mortar, and the 
click of a trowel. 

I started up; the dream passed away. It was a bright night, 
and the wind breathed refreshingly through the trees. I was 



90 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

vexed at my own nervousness, and presently was half asleep 
again. 

But in that debatable condition between sleeping and waking 
the same sounds seemed to be repeated, — the fall of bricks, the 
splash of mortar, the click of the trowel. I tried to think of 
Kenyon and old school-days. The click of the trowel became 
fainter ; I heard the clock striking twelve, and fell asleep. 

Towards morning I was roused by a passing wagon in the 
street. It could have been but a moment between sleeping and 
waking, but in that moment the same vivid dream was repeated. 
I fancied I could hear the sound of masonry under the floor. 

Fully awake, .1 heard nothing, and my sleep had been sweet 
and undisturbed. Towards morning I found myself drowsy 
again, when the click of the trowel again startled me. I started 
up, threw myself into the arm-chair, and sat there undisturbed 
until the morning began to redden in the east. 
, • Kenyon returned before noon, when I went with him to Bos- 
ton, and took leave of him there. 

I never forgot the impressions of that night, though I did not 
tell Kenyon of them. I seldom recall dreams, and I cannot 
relate any dream I ever had in my life, except that one so vividly 
repeated. As I have thought of that, I have had a horror of 
nervous disease, for it fixed in my mind the conviction that no 
suffering could be more dreadful than nervous apprehension 
and fear. 

Many years passed before I saw Cambridge again. I have 
not the exact date now, but it was the year when the building 
of the Shepard Memorial Church began. The old Charles River 
bridge had given place to a more substantial structure, as I 
noticed when I passed. Kenyon was in Nevada, and the old 
Moore house was uninhabited, and was soon to be taken down. 
The land on which it stood was to be used by the Society of the 
Shepard Memorial Church for their new building. 

I was at my hotel one evening, when a newsboy entered the 
hall, and said, — 



THE OLD HOUSE ON CAMBRIDGE COMMON. 91 

"■Journal! Traveller/ Herald! Startling discovery ! Two 
bodies found in a vault of the old Moore house ! " 

I started to my feet. I bought a copy of each of the papers, 
the Herald giving the most detailed and curious account. The 
paper described the situation of the room; and I felt a nervous 
perspiration steal over me, as I identified it as the very apart- 
ment that Kenyon had occupied, and about which he had given 
me such an unfavorable impression, and in which we had passed 
the night together, and I had dreamed the one vivid dream that 
stamped itself indelibly on my memory. 

I immediately went to the place. The house was partly taken 
down ; and a great crowd of people were around it, and within 
the admissible part of its ruins. 

I went to my old chamber, forcing my way with an air of 
special concern through the crowd. The floor was taken up ; 
under it was an open brick vault. It was empty. Men and 
boys were talking about the " bodies." I received the most 
unsatisfactory answers to nry questions about the discovery, and 
turned to the policeman who had taken charge of the place. 

"Where are the bodies?" I asked. 

" The old skeletons? They have been removed." 

"What is your opinion about them ? Violence?" 

" Well, the bones are so old you can't tell. They may be, 
for aught any one knows, a hundred years old. This is a very 
old house, and they used to tell some curious stories about it a 
very long time ago. People got the idea it was haunted ; people 
used to believe in such things more than they do now." 

" Did any two persons ever disappear mysteriously from Cam- 
bridge society ? " 

" Not that I ever heard of." 

" But how could such a vault as this have been built without 
exciting suspicion ? " 

" I don't know." 

He presently added, " Anatomies, perhaps." 



92 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" But why were the skeletons hidden in such a room as this 
under the floor ? Why were they placed in a vault at all ? " 

"I don't know. It all looks kind of mysterious." And 
with an easy air, that showed that mysterious things were not 
unfamiliar to him, he walked slowly away. 

The vault was nearly under the place where my bed had 
been on the nights I had occupied the room, and where prob- 
abky Kenyon's bed had stood when the room was his study. 

Old people associated the discovery with Deacon Moore. 
The stories about his strange habits, and his supposed pecula- 
tions from Dr. Holmes's church treasury, and about the myste- 
rious noises on the premises after his decease, were again revived, 
and old New England superstition for a few days seemed to 
start into new life in the town. A case of circumstantial evi- 
dence, throwing suspicion upon the eccentric deacon, was at 
once made up ; but it seemed to have but little basis in fact, 
and the same suspicion would doubtless have fallen upon any 
other singular person who might have long ago occupied the 
house. 

The leading incidents of this story are mainly true, and will 
readily be recognized ; and I would not, for the sake of height- 
ening the effect of a plot, do injustice to the memory of one 
who may have been a wholly innocent man. I can but re- 
member, in associating tales and rumors with facts, that old 
New England superstition threw a shade of suspicion over 
many an innocent name. 

It is a Cambridge mystery, and it gathers around it the gloom 
and romance of nearly one hundred years. Who were these 
people ? Were they brought to their hidden tomb by the hand 
of violence ? If so, why were they placed in a vault in a 
private house, where time would surely disclose the secret of 
their burial and raise the darkest suspicions? Were they 
anatomical specimens ? Then why were they hidden at all ? 

The old Moore house is gone; the historic church of Dr. 



THE BELL OF CAUGHNAWAGA. 93 

Holmes is gone ; and one of the finest of the churches of 
Cambridge now raises its finger-like spire over the spot where 

the mansion of the mysterious deacon once stood. I sometimes 
pass the place in my evening walks ; and the old tradition and 
more recent mysterious discovery return to my mind vividly; 
but it is all an association of the past,— of times dark and 
ended, faded and gone. 

I have but one theory that promises a solution. 

Halifax, as I have said, was settled largely by royalists from 
America during the War of Independence. 

Among the latter were people who are known to have lived 
a short time in the new city, but who often expressed a strong- 
desire to return to their friends in Boston. These people dur- 
ing their stay at Halifax helped the British cause in many 
ways, and incurred the bitter enmity of many of their old-time 
friends in Massachusetts. Some of them disappeared mysteri- 
ously from Halifax, and were never again heard of there. They 
had relatives or friends who lived at Cambridge. Were the 
bodies those of these refugees ? 

It ends in mystery. A mysterious story it will always re- 
main. I was led to associate the story with the refugees only 
on account of my impressions that night, and that from the 
circumstance that a part of my impressions was afterwards 
proven true. The narrative at least will give you a glance at 
old Halifax and the possibilities of old colonial times. 



THE BELL OF CAUGHNAWAGA. 

Nine miles above Montreal, on the river St. Lawrence, is a 
quiet Indian village where lives the remnant of the old tribe 
of Caughnawagas. 

The houses of the village are simple, but in their midst 
stands a massive stone church, colored by time. In the tower 



94 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

of the church hang two bells. One of these has a most remark- 
able history. 

Near the close of the first century of colonization Father 
Nichols, a Catholic missionary, induced the Christian Indians 
of the then great nation of the Caughnawagas to put aside a 
certain portion of their game and furs for the purpose of pur- 
chasing a bell for his mission church. The Indians had never 
seen or heard a church bell ; but they were generous in meet- 
ing the appeal, and the bell was ordered from France. 

The priest and _the contributors waited long and patiently 
for the arrival of the bell ; but it did not come. At length news 
reached Montreal that the French ship on which the bell had 
been placed had been captured by an English cruiser, and that 
the bell had been taken to the port of Salem, Massachusetts, 
and hung up in the belfry of the church at Deerfield, near that 
port. 

' The Indians had looked for the coming of the bell like the 
advent of a god. They were greatly disappointed at its cap- 
ture. Some of them said, — 

" Our warriors will one day bring hither the bell. The bell 
is the Lord's." 

In 1704 the Marquis de Vaudreuil j^lanned a hostile expedi- 
tion against the New England colonies. He said to Father 
Nichols, — 

" I must have the aid of the Caughnawagas." 

" I will lead them myself, but on one condition." 

" Name it." 

" That you will recapture the bell in the town of Deerfield, 
and allow us to bring it to Caughnawaga." 

" You shall have your wish. I will order the commander to 
recover the bell." 

Father Nichols assembled the Indians, and preached to them 
a crusade for the rescue of the bell. 

His words were like fuel to a fire already kindled. 



THE BELL OF CAUGHNAWAGA. 95 

" The bell ! the bell ! " shouted the red crusaders. The idol 
of brass was to them as the Holy Sepulchre to the Knights of 
the Middle Ages, and they were impatient, if not to light the 
battles of the Lord who had forbidden the shedding of blood. 
at least to fight in His name. 

The expedition entered the English colonies in midwinter. 
It was a long and perilous march, and the French troops suf- 
fered and complained. The French soldiers knew that they 
were engaged merely in a war of conquest, and winter chilled 
the romance of such an expedition. 

Not so with the Indian warriors. Father Nichols uplifted the 
banner of the Cross, and a convert bore it before them through the 
evergreens and over the white wastes of snow, and they advanced 
on their snow-shoes as though they had received the commissions 
of Heaven. Their watchword was " The bell ! the bell ! " 

On the 29th of February Deerfield rose in sight over the 
fields of snow, — the Jerusalem of the red crusaders. 

Early in the morning of the 1st of March, in the midst of a 
storm of high wind and driving snow, the army fell upon the 
town. The people of Deerfield could hardly have been more 
taken by surprise had an army descended from the clouds. An 
attack by the French and Indians in the winter was unlooked 
for by even the military towns of the colonies ; but Deerfield. 
— what could have brought such an army here ? 

The Indians fell upon the people, and a fearful slaughter 
followed. The snow was crimsoned with blood. Forty-seven 
persons were killed, and one hundred and twenty were made 
prisoners. After the first flush of the barbaric triumph, the 
Indian warriors, with their hands red with gore, cried, " The 
bell ! the bell ! " 

Father Nichols led them to the church, and said to a French 
soldier, " Go up and ring it." 

The bell rung out over the reddened snow in the crystal air 
in which the storm of the morning 1 was clearing. 



96 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

The Indians listened with awe. They dropped upon their 
knees and uplifted their bloody hands in thanksgiving. Well, 
well, it was strange ! Te Deums have been sung in Christian 
lands over deeds as dark as this ; but towering above all such 
scenes as these, the Sermon on the Mount lives, and will live 
until all deeds of blood are remembered only as barbarisms, 
however they may have been lauded. 

. The bell was placed on poles, and borne in triumph towards 
Montreal. But the winter snows were yet deep, and March 
was pitiless, and Father Nichols allowed the bell to be buried 
near the frontier, at a place to which it would be safe to return 
for it in the late spring. 

In the season of the birds and flowers and tender leaves, 
Father Nichols again led an expedition for the recovery of the 
bell. Canada awaited the return of the priest and his warriors. 

The expedition came back in triumph. The Cross advanced 
out of the forest. Behind it were two white oxen bearing the 
bell on their yoke. The oxen and bell were garlanded with the 
flowers of spring. 

The bell was brought to Caughnawaga, and hung up in the 
belfry of the Mission Church. A festival of rejoicing followed ; 
and for years whenever the music of the bell was heard, the 
Indians dropped on their knees in prayer. 

The bell still hangs in the old tower above the St. Lawrence. 
But its voice is not often heard, and it long ago ceased to be 
regarded as the voice of a god. 



THE YOUNG HUGUENOT. 97 



THE YOUNG HUGUENOT, OR THE COUNTRY 
AUCTIONEER. 

I remember the scene well. 

" Going, going, going ! Once, do I hear it ? Twice, do I 
hear it ? Three times, do I hear it ? Gone ! " 

It was early June, — a shining morning, with dew and blos- 
soms everywhere. The eaves of the stately old farmhouse ap- 
peared through the trees. In the yard was a crowd of people, 
and on a bench in the yard stood a jolly old auctioneer. 

I recall the curious dialogue. It was like this : — 

" And here is the family cradle. Who bids ? How much 
am I offered? 

w> Fifty cents — one dollar — do I hear it ? 

" Fifty, fifty ! 

" One dollar — do I hear it ? One dollar. Now a quarter. 

" Do I hear the quarter ? Going, going, at one dollar — do 
I hear the quarter ? Going, going — are you all done ? Going, 
once, do I hear it? 

" Going, twice, do I hear it ? " 

" Going, three times, do I hear it? (In low tone.) Going, 
going, going, going, going, etc. (lower and lower). 

" Gone, Judge Tapley's cradle for one dollar to — what \s 
your name, stranger ? Dessalines." 

I had never attended a New England country auction, and 
curiosity led me into the yard. The old auctioneer's vocabu- 
lary was musical and rather poetical. The crowd consisted of 
orderly farmers in their working-clothes. 

There was a pause in the sale. They were bringing down 
furniture from the old garret. I sat down on the bench of an 
old grindstone under a spreading elm-tree. The sunlight glim- 
mered through the leaves as through a cathedral window. ( )n 

7 



98 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 




THE AUCTION. 



the lower limbs of the trees hung scythes. Above, the Balti- 
more orioles were fluting and flaming. An old man sat on the 
other side of the bench of the grindstone, leaning on a crutch. 
" Pleasant mornin', stranger. Be you one of Square Tapley's 



THE YOUNG HUGUENOT. 99 

folks? No. I didn't know but you mought he. So the old 
Square's cradle has gone, before he is dead, — right before his 
own eyes, too. Sold for a dollar. To that young feller they 
rail Dessalines. Curi's kind of a, name." 

"Who was Squire Tapley?" 1 asked. 

••Who was he? He ain't dead, stranger. They generally 
have the funeral first, and the auction afterwards, but this time 
they 're bavin' the auction first; but the funeral, in my opinion, 
will be pretty sure to follow. There is the Judge now — 
Sijnare Tapley — by the chamber window there." 

An old man leaned out of the open window and looked at the 
auctioneer. A terrible look came into his thin face. His hair 
was white, scant, and uncombed; his mouth opened and shaped 
words without sound or any emotional expression. A young 
man came and stood beside him. He had a marked face and 
was elegantly dressed. 

-That is Tinley Tapley, the broker, the Judge's son. I 
wonder how he feels to-day.' 1 

There was an anxious look in the young man's face, and I 
noticed that he bent his eye upon me suspiciously. I heard 
him ask some unseen person, "Who is that stranger?" And I 
wondered why the appearance of a stranger at a. public auction 
should have excited his attention. 

His face was what would be called handsome, but was heart- 
less and unprincipled. I felt sure that character had moulded 
it the impression of the soul, and had written upon it the secrets 
of the inner life. The face of the soul always comes to the 
surface at last. 

••School books and law books!" shouted the round-faced 
auctioneer; " Scott's novels ; the works of Fletcher; Methodist 
hymn-book ; Family Bible — 

" Eh, Squire, shall I put in the family Bible ? 

u Yes, the old Bible, — Mrs. Tapley's old books, all good as 
new. The Squire always took good care of his things. 



100 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" How much am I offered? Start the lot, somebody. School 
books, law books, and religious books. 

" Two dollars. 

" Three, do I hear it ? 

" Two dollars — - who says three ? 

" Going, once, do I hear it ? 

" Twice, do I hear it? 

" Three times, do I hear it ? ( In low voice.) Going, going, 
going, going, going, etc. 

" Going — gone,, to what 's your name again, stranger ? 
Dessalines. Sold to Dessalines for two dollars." 

There was a strange movement at the chamber window. The 
old Squire leaned out and shook his cane in an agitated way. 
His son laid his hand upon his arm firmly and drew it back. I 
never shall forget the look that came into the old man's face. 
It was bitter beyond anything I ever saw. His eyelids dropped 
and his lips curled. 

Some of the people in the yard had noticed this mysterious 
episode. I heard the question passing from mouth to mouth, 
" Who is Dessalines ? " No one seemed able to answer the 
question except in one way : " The old Squire knows who 
he is." 

I could but notice that there was something remarkable 
about this young stranger, perhaps thirty or thirty-five years of 
age, who had given his name to the auctioneer as Dessalines. 
He was tall and well-formed, with a mild, dark eye ; his face 
mirrored his .emotions, and had grown into a picture of 
benevolence. 

It was a face so beautiful in its beneficent expressions, so 
serenely spiritual, as to win confidence at once, and to assure 
you that some good angel of character lighted it from within. 
It presented a strong contrast to Tinley's. 

I turned to the old man beside me, and asked, — 

" Who is Dessalines ? " 



THE YOUNG HCTGUENOT. 101 

"I was just a-goin' to ask you that question myself. As you 
are a stranger, I didn't know but that he might have come 
along with you! You don't know him, then? " 

" No. I have never been in this place before ; I am spending 
a few days at the Kino House in the town. I was taking a 
walk, saw that an auction was going on here, stopped out of 
curiosity, and that is all I know except what I have seen. He 
does not seem to know any one here." 

" It seems as though he does, too. I 've been watching him. 
He seems to be kind o' recognizin" people by his looks. He 
looked at me just now, and appeared to know me, though 
he said nothin'. Strange that he should be here buyin' a 
cradle, — old Squire Tapley's, too ! " 

" I should have thought the son, Tinley, would have bought 
that cradle." 

"But hold, stranger! Don't you know? He's bankrupted, 
— is n't worth a dollar. Failed. I thought everybody knew 
that, — Tinley, the New York broker. Why, it 's been in all 
the papers. Ruined the Square, too. Ye see, the Square in- 
dorsed Tinley 's papers ; that 's why this auction is here to-day." 

I began to grow interested in the history of this family, 
hitherto as unknown to me as any people could be. The disap- 
pointed face of the excited old man at the window, the weak 
handsome face of the son beside him, and the mysterious figure 
of Dessalines made for me three contrasting pictures, — like 
open books, written in characters that I could easily outline 
and guess, but not quite translate or comprehend. 

The sale went on. Noon came. The bread-cart men rode 
up with jingling bells, and the farmers bought gingerbread and 
buns, and ate them in the shade. The ospreys Avheeled over- 
head in the open sky, and now and then sweetrscented winds 
came drifting through the apple-blossoms. The auctioneer was 
asked into the house to dine with the Squire and Tinley. 
Dessalines had disappeared. 



102 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" Have you found out who that young man was ? " said the 
man with the crutch. 

"No." 

The neighbors, seeing the farmer questioning me, began to 
gather in a near circle around me. 

" I '11 tell you who he reminds me of," said the old man, 
addressing his neighbors. " Fletcher." 

" Who is Fletcher ? " I asked. 

"You see that spire yonder?" 

" Yes." A golden vane on a white pinnacle shone over the 
green sea of the tree-tops. 

" Well, Fletcher first started the society out of which that 
church grew." - ■ 

" But who was he ? " 

" He was the son of a French Huguenot who died young," 
continued the old man, "and the Square married the widow. 
•So the Square was his step-father." 

"Well?" 

" Well, the Square he was a money-making kind of man, and 
he came to hate the boy. The Square used to say that he could 
never make anything of him ; that there was no business in 
him. 

" Well, Tinley was born. The Square set the world by him, 
and he used to treat the boy Fletcher shamefully. 

" There was a great religious interest in the town about the 
time Fletcher was sixteen years old, and Fletcher joined the 
church and thought that he had a call to preach. The Square 
always hated anything of that kind, and one day he turned the 
poor boy out of doors, and forbade him to come back again, 
even to visit his own mother. 

" His mother loved him ; and she never saw a happy hour 
after that day. She began to droop and lie awake of nights, 
and at last her reason went out. She became violent, and they 
took her to an insane hospital. 



Til E YOUNG HUGUENOT. 103 

" Everybody pitied Fletcher, and this sympathy made the 
Square hate him the more. He used to speak of him as ' that 
worthless French fellow/ Men always hate those whom they 
injure. The selectmen offered the lad the district school ; and 
although the Square opposed the appointment, he began to 
teach, and he put his mind and heart and conscience into his 
work. We never had a teacher like Fletcher. 

"One day, after he began to teach, there came riding up to 
the school-house on horseback a man from the hospital, with a 
message that made his face turn white. The man said to him, 
leaning down from the horse and speaking through the open 
window, ' Your mother is dying, and wishes you to come.' 

" Fletcher sank down into a chair as though smitten. The 
children began to cry. Then he dismissed the school, and 
hurried towards the Square's, and asked for the use of one of the 
horses to ride to the hospital. 

" ' I told you not to come here again,' said the Square. k You 
have made me trouble enough. I can't gratify the whims of 
a crazy wife. If she 'cl been dying, she would have sent 
for me.' 

" Fletcher walked to the hospital, a distance of seven miles. 
It was as the messenger had said; the poor woman's sufferings 
were almost over. The scene between the mother and her son 
made those who saw it shed tears like children. 

" ' Fletcher,' she said, ' my own boy, the darkness has gone ; 
and the doctor said that when the darkness went. I would die. 
I 've been praying for you, Fletcher.' The boy took his mother's 
hand. 

• k ' I 've been praying God would make your life a blessing, 
Fletcher. My boy, He has heard. I want you to make me a 
promise, Fletcher. 'T is about the Square. 'T is a hard promise, 
for he has not used you well. If ever sorrow comes upon him, 
I want you to promise to be his son.' 

"'Why?' 



104 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



■" ' For Christ's sake. 'T is a hard thing ; but He said, " Love 
your enemies," — you know the rest. His words are so beauti- 
ful ! And God has promised me in my spirit that He will bless 
you. Will you promise ? J 

" ' Oh, mother \ ' 




THE BOY PROMISES. 



" l Is it yes, Fletcher ? ' 
Uk Yes.' 

" ' Will you be to Tinley a brother, if trouble comes ? ' 
" ' Yes.' 

"The peace of death came. Her crazed brain had entered 
the endless calm. They brought home her body, and buried 



THE YOUNG HUGUENOT. 105 

it in the corner of the east meadow. It is a hay-field now. His 
mother's sorrow and death made a feeling man of Fletcher. He 
became unlike other people; he seemed never to think of him- 
self. His mother's influence appeared to be with him always 
like an angel of good; people said, -He lias his mother's 
heart.' 

" He taught school here three years. He began a Sunday- 
school in the school-house. It has changed into a church. The 
old school-house is gone, and a new one has taken its place ; hut 
his influence lives in the character of every scholar that it 
touched. He multiplied good in others. Every sufferer found 
in him a friend. 

" Tinley, — do you want to know about Tinley ? He never 
seemed to have but one purpose in life, and that was to gratify 
himself. But the Square used to say that he had business in 
him, and that he would lie a rich man one day. He spent his 
Sundays in riding and his evenings at the billiard-saloon in the 
village, where there was a bar. 

"The Square let him have money, and he went to New York. 
' Tinley will open your eyes one day,' the Square used to say. 

"•He did open our eyes. He speculated. They said that he 
was rich. He spent his summers at Saratoga and at the water- 
ing-places. He came back here one summer, drove fast horses 
and entertained gay people. The old Square seemed delighted 
that his prophecy had proved true. Then he failed and opened 
our eyes again. What you see to-day is the end of it all." 

The good farmer, seeing that I was greatly interested, 
went on : — 

" Tinley gave to the town a billiard-saloon. That would have 
been well enough, but he put into it a bar. Tinley's old com- 
rades are all ruined or dead, and his gilded saloon is turning 
out wrecks of character and paupers. His life has withered 
whatever it has touched. He has no true friends. He is lost 
to himself and to everybody. 



106 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" They tell two stories, — the lives of those two boys. One's 
acts of good, are helps to others, and one's acts of wrong are 
injuries to others ; for we all of us live in others' lives as well 
as our own. Ah, well, stranger," said the farmer, in conclusion, 
" young folks cannot see things as older eyes see them. When 
the making up of life's account comes, it is less what we have 
gained of this world than what we have surrendered that will 
be the account that we shall most like to see." 

The old auctioneer came out of the house. A carriage was 
driven into the yard, and two strangers alighted from it, hitched 
the horse, and stood silently apart by themselves. They were 
dressed differently from the townspeople. I was sure they 
came from the city. I suspected that they were officers of the 
law. 

The auction went on. But the country people seemed to 
lose all interest in the sale. They gathered together in little 
groups and talked in low tones. In the afternoon women 
came and filled the old house. I could see them whispering 
together here and there, and watching every movement of the 
four strangers on the premises, — the two officer-like men, 
•Dessalines, and myself. There was an air of mystery every- 
where. 

Dessalines returned about the middle of the afternoon, and 
spoke to me. 

" I have been walking over the farm," he said. " There is 
one place here that is more sacred to me than any other on 
earth, — a grave in the meadow. It was hard to find it." 

And now the great sale of all is to be made, — the Tapley 
farm itself. 

The men gathered around the auctioneer. Heads filled the 
windows. Dessalines and I stood outside the circle of men. 
The two strangers whom I had taken to be officers were passing 
about nervously from place to place. 

The old Squire came out of the front door slowly, and stood 



THE YOUNG HUGUENOT 107 

upon the piazza. He was alone. No one cared to share his 
company in this critical hour of his life. His head was un- 
covered, and his hair was white and thin. The declining sun 
poured its light over the tree-tops. The green aisles of the old 
orchard back of the house grew shadowy. The martins came 
back to the bird-houses beneath the eaves, and the doves cooed 
in the dove-cotes. Nearly sunset. 

" Are you ready ? " asked the auctioneer. 

The old Squire looked toward the open fields through the 
opening in the locust-trees. The waving meadow where his 
father and mother and wife slept was there. The family graves 
were to go with the rest. Sunset. 

" Are you ready ? " The auctioneer now addressed the 
Squire. 

" Wait — where is Tinley ? I want him here." 

There was a stay in the proceedings. Men inquired for 
Tinley ; women looked for him in all the rooms. 

But more anxious than the old man or the country-folks 
appeared the two strangers. The latter entered the house and 
went from room to room. A thrill of suspicion and excitement 
ran through the crowd of people. Presently the men appeared 
upon the piazza beside the old man, and one of them whispered 
in his ear. Every eye was turned from the impatient auctioneer 
upon the old Squire. 

The Squire turned upon the strangers his cold gray eye. 
The look that came into his face cannot be pictured. It was 
as though hope — as though his very soul — had died then and 
there. He stood still, with motionless lips ; only his thin fingers 
trembled. 

I looked into the face of Dessalines. He laid his hand on my 
arm. 

kW Keady all," said the auctioneer. 

" The Tapley farm and homestead, — the finest farm in Tol- 
land. Buildings all in the best of order. You all know it, — 
how much am I offered ? " 



108 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

"Two thousand dollars,"' bid a farmer. 

" Two thousand dollars. Worth five. Do I hear the three ? 
Three, do I hear it? 

" Two thousand dollars ! Look out on the orchards and 
meadows ; what more could any one wish ? Two thousand 
dollars." ' 

" Three." 

" Three I am offered. Four ? Four ? Do I hear the four ? 
Think how the old Squire has thriven here. Four? Do I hear 
it? Do I hear the four?" 

" Four." 

" Four thousand dollars. Five ? Do I hear the five ? Four, 
four: do I hear the five ? Five, do I hear it? Are you all 
done? Are you ready? 

" Going — one." 

" Four, one hundred," bid one. 

" Four, one. Four, one. Now, two." 

" Two," bid another. 

« Four ? " 

" Four." 

" Nine ? " 

" Nine." 

" Four thousand nine hundred dollars. Do I hear the five ? 
Five, five ? Do I hear the five ? " 

" Five thousand dollars." 

The voice startled the people. It was a mild voice, a beauti- 
ful voice, — that of Dessalines. 

I felt his hand tremble on my arm. There was a pause, — 
a painful silence, except that the birds were singing. 

The old man stood as rigid as marble. He had not answered 
the question of the officer beside him. He never would 
now. 

" Five thousand dollars. Five, one ? Are you all ready ? Five 
— once, do I hear it ? Five — twice, do I hear it ? Five thou- 



THE YOUNG HUGUENOT. 109 

sand dollars — your third and last chance — going, going, gone 
for five thousand dollars, and sold to — '" 

He paused and repeated the old musical ditty — 

" Good people, all give ear 

To my ' Going, going, gone ! ' 
I'm a country auctioneer, 

And my goods are going, gone. 
Prize well your blessings here, 
For they soon will disappear : 
For Life 's an auctioneer. 

And his goods are going, gone." 

He added, amid an awful silence, "Are you all done bidding? 

kk Going, going, once. 

" Going, going, twice. 

"Going, going, third and last chance — to Jean Dessalines 
Fletcher:' 

The white-haired old man stood like a figure of alabaster in 
the red light of the sunset. His figure then seemed to shrink, 
and his thin fingers clutched at the air. He tried to speak, but 
simply said, — 

" Gone." 

They bore him to his room paralyzed. 

Dessalines moved slowly toward the house. His old neighbors 
pressed upon him. They tried to grasp his hands. He entered 
the house, and went to the chamber where lay the old Squire, 
breathing heavily. The room, the door, the stairs, were filled 
with people. 

Presently the old Squire opened his eyes. 

kk Where is Tinley ? " he asked in an apprehensive tone, like 
one awakened from a fearful dream. 

" He has escaped," said the old housekeeper. Then she 
added in a low tone to Fletcher. " The two strange men 
accused him of forgery." 

The Squire bent his eyes upon Fletcher. 



110 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" You will let me die here ? " 
" Yes, father, and live here." 
" Then you forgive me ? " 
" As the All-Merciful has forgiven me." 
" Did you soy father ? " 
" Father." 

The old man turned his face upon the pillow. He was a child 
again. 

JERRY SLACK'S MONEY-POT. 

Jerry — I can see him in fancy now as he used to sit on his 
fence swinging his. heels through the broken pickets which he 
never found time to mend. 

He was a philosopher — Jerry. He dreamed golden dreams 
as he used to sit among the weeds in his garden. He wondered 
,why the Roman wormwood over-topped the corn and sent to 
oblivion the potatoes. 

" It is the mysteriousest thing in nature," he used to say, — 
" what a different kind of luck comes to different folks in the 
world, and where it comes from. I can plan, but I cannot turn 
my plans into gold like other folks who do not seem to me to 
have near as much sense. There is always a peaked look to 
things inside of my house and out of it, and yet there ain't a 
man in the town that likes to see things neat and trim and 
prosperous better than I do. This is a very mysterious world, 
and the poorer one grows, the more strange it all appears. 
Poorer, did I say ? I meant older. The fact is you can't calcu- 
late, as Shakespeare says, you can't calculate ; you ain't sure of 
anything unless you get a bone in your throat and can't get it 
up nor down." 

The last remark was one of Jerry's favorite remarks, — one 
of his " wise saws," he called it. It was his way of saying that 
there is nothing sure but death and taxes. 



JERRY SLACK'S MoXEY-POT. 



Ill 



Samuel Dyer was a thrifty farmer. Jle used to join the 
other young farmers after his daily work in a room adjoining 
the post-office and there discuss 
agricultural affairs. These ac- 
tive young men, after talking- 
over their own affairs, occasion- 
ally gave a thought or two to the 
concerns of their neighbors, and 
poor Jerry Slack's unthrifty 
ways not unfrequently furnished 
a point for a joke. 




It was planting time, 
the first beautiful 
weather of spring. The 
hill-sides were growing 
green again ; the blue- 
birds were in the trees ; 
there were echoes from 
the fields that sounded 
strangely clear, and a 
w a, r m light in the 
orchards that seemed 
signally bright. The 
doors of the cribs 



112 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

stood open; boys were seen riding the work-horses in the 
lanes. 

After one of the mild days when everything in the earth and 
air seemed to prophesy of the verdure about to appear, the 
young farmers met in the usual place, and discussed the best 
preparations for sowing the early grains. 

Old Farmer Martin sometimes met with the young men ; he 
was the patriarch of the company. 

" I do hate to see Jerry's land," said he, suddenly, after most 
of the farms in the town had received due criticism. " There 
is his four-acre lot, it just grows up to white-weed and burdock, 
and it is as productive a piece of ground as can be found in the 
whole township." 

" I know it," said James Redpath, " and that pasture of his, 
too. It would keep three or four cows if he would only clear 
it of stones, and put a good wall around it." 

" And things in the house are the same as they are out of 
doors," said Farmer Martin. " His wife and children would 
hardly know new clothes by sight, and his credit at the grocer's 
is as worn out as the clothes of his family. I pity his children." 

" I often think of Jerry," said James, " I wonder if anything 
short of a coat of tar and feathers would awaken in him a decent 
amount of energy." 

" Don't let us forget," said Samuel Dyer, " that Jerry is one 
of the best hearted men in the town, — generous, always willing 
to watch when you are sick, always says something feeling when 
you are in trouble. I never heard him speak ill of any one in 
my life ; he has a charitable eye for people's faults, and likes 
to see everybody prosperous. The fact is, he 's puzzled his 
brains all his life in trying to find out the secret of success. I 
could teach it in a much easier way than by tar and feathers." 

" How ? " chorused the other speakers. 

" I have a plan ; will you help me ? " 

"Go ahead; we'll help you," was the answer; and the 



JERRY SLACK'S MONEY-POT. 



113 



result was that the next evening, when ploughing was done 
and the horses put up, Jerry Slack caught sight of Sam ap- 
proaching his house very cautiously, hiding mysteriously behind 
bushes and posts, peeping out as if he wished to see Jerry, but 
did not want to be seen by any one else, and at last, when Jerry's 
head appeared through the broken hinged door, beckoning to 
him to come out. 







"a message for me! 



"What's happened?" said Jerry. Sam retreated, still beck- 
oning, till he had drawn Jerry quite out of sight of the house, 
and into a dark corner where the eaves of the barn and the wood- 
shed met, and there at last he spoke. 

"I say. Jerry," in a hollow whisper, "do yon believe in spirits. 
and revelations, and such '.'" 



114 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

Jerry's hair began to stiffen under his hat, for the super- 
natural was precisely what he did believe in, and with a very 
thrilling kind of faith too. 

"I — why yes,' I do," he stammered. 

" Well, I 've got a message for you from one of 'em, but I 
thought I'd just ask your views before I made it over," said 
Sam. 

" A message for me ! " said Jerry, a thrill of amazement run- 
ning through his veins. 

" Yes," returned Sam, in a deeper whisper ; " a money-pot ! " 

" A money-pot I " gasped Jerry ; " in my field ! " 

Sam drew Jerry closer to him until he had brought his ear 
directly in range of his mouth. 

" I was — down — there ! " he whispered, pointing stiffly 
toward a strip of woods that rose dark against the twilight sky 
a quarter of a mile away, " in the big hollow tree, with the 
scarred white branch pointing to the house where old Betty the 
fortune-teller died. That is the place to go if you want ques- 
tions answered. Shall we go ? " 

Jerry glanced at the eastern sky ; the edge of the moon was 
just visible. " Yes, come," said Jerry, hoarsely. 

Sam grasped his arm, and without another word they crept 
away toward the wood, entered it, and over crackling twigs and 
slippery pine-needles made their way to the scarred and lonely 
tree. 

" Hush ! " said Sam, and laying two sticks crosswise on the 
top of a tall stump, he crossed his own and Jerry's hands above 
them and stood as if he were turned to stone. " Hush ! " he 
said again. 

At last the silence was broken. 

There were one, two, three low, echoing raps against the 
inside of the hollow tree, and then a strange, muffled voice 
issued from the same retreat : — 



JERRY SLACK'S MONEY-POT. 115 

"Go — HOME — AM) — SLEEP — IX — PEACE — TO-NIGHT : 

Arise — and — search — with — morning — light — 
Further — directions — careful — mind — 

And — GOLDEN — TREASURE — YOU — SHALL — FIND." 

Jerry gasped and .stood silent, and Sam did not stir, but not 
another word came from the oracle. 

" We 'd better go," whispered Sam at last, and slowly and 
silently they retraced their steps over the crackling twigs and 
slippery carpets to Jerry's door. 

" I '11 be here in the morning," said Sam, in a hollow whisper 
again ; and Jerry crept into the house, but with prospect of any- 
thing but "a peaceful night; "for how could he sleep in the 
very face of such promises of good fortune, and if he should lie 
awake, contrary to order, what could he expect? 

However, lazy people are always tired, and Jerry slept at last, 
and never waked till the first streak of light from the east shone 
over his eyes. He sprang up with a confused idea that some- 
thing had happened, and a low whistle from Sam Dyer cleared 
his confused recollections. He slipped the rickety bolt, and 
gazed eagerly into Sam's face. 

k * I 've found 'em ! " said Sam, k ' the 'further directions'! 
come and see ! " 

Jerry followed Sam, who led him to the great barn-door, half 
of which was shut, and the other half, splitting away from its 
hinges, swung helplessly out toward the yard. On the closed 
half some unknown hand had written : — 

" Obey ! Obey ! Obey ! 
and fail not till the lucky day ! " 

A line was drawn under this, and a little way below Jerry 
read in the same characters : — 

"Plough the north side of your fallow field ninety furrows 
from east to west, and plough the south side ninety furrows 

FROM WEST TO EASl!" 



116 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

Jerry looked at Sam in mute surprise. 

'• But my plough 's got one handle off and the prow bent," he 
said pitifully. 

"Never mind," said Sam, "I'll help you mend it." 

" But the old mare, — she 's been lame these two years." 

" That 's bad," said Sam ; " but I '11 let you have my grays 
for a day. 'T won't do to trifle with a money-pot at stake." 

" But I cant run a two-horse plough alone," groaned Jerry. 

"Well, there 's your sixteen-year-old boy Tom; give him the 
lines, and I '11 spell him an hour or two if he gives out." 

" The harness 's broke, too," continued Jerry ; but Sam would 
not listen, and the next morning brought the wondrous sight of 
Jerry, the grays, the mended plough, and Tom, all moving from 
east to west across the neglected field. 

The ninety furrows were ploughed at last, and yet no money- 
pot. 

. " Why, what did you expect ? " said Sam. " A thing that 's 
worth having is worth waiting for, and you're going to be led 
on by degrees. I knowed that from the beginning. Wait for 
another message on the barn-door ; " and Jerry went to sleep 
once more and waited for the mysterious disclosures of the 
morning light. 

The oracle had spoken again. " Obey ! Obey ! Obey ! " stood 
undisturbed upon the door, but this time the directions beneath 
read : — 

"Plant freely with the best of Early Rose, 
And wait until this door shall more disclose!" 

" And where am I to get so many bushels of Early Rose as 
that there field would swallow up ? " groaned Jerry. 

" I 've got some of my seed potatoes left over," said Sam ; 
" and I '11 let you have 'em. What 's a few potatoes to expec- 
tations like yours ? " 

The potatoes were planted, but still no money-pot appeared. 




THE MESSAGE. 



.IE II ID SLACK'S MONEY-POT. 119 

"I can't stand it," lie said to Sam; "I've a clear mind to 
borrow a spade and set Tom to turn the whole field over three 
feet deep. What's the use of waiting forever for what might 
just as well be had to-day? Spirits knows a good deal, I dare 
say. but 't would n't be strange if their notions of time were a 
little loose." 

" Now, 1 'd just advise you to be a little skittish how you 
meddle with this piece of business," said Sam, with a warning 
shake of the head that pierced to Jerry's soul and marrow ; 
" there 's money in the right place now, as sure as the 'varsal 
hills, but once you begin going contrary to orders, and 1 would n't 
answer for the consequences." 

So Jerry calmed down and waited again. It was slow work, 
but at last the barn-door glistened with fresh chalk, and Jerry 
found imperative commands that the earth round every hill of 
potatoes should be loosened and have its weeds cut out with a 
hoe. Once more Jerry and Tom went to work, and with many 
a groan from Jerry and an occasional helping stroke from Sam 
the work was well and quickly done. A few weeks passed, 
and at last, beneath the sacred " Obey ! Obey ' Obey ! " which 
had never stirred, appeared directions for one more hoeing, and 
beneath them a few words which sent hope and courage tingling 
to Jerry's very finger-tips : — 

" When next you find a summons here, 
The hidden treasure surely shall appear." 

No more groaning this time. Jerry flew over the field with a 
will, his hat square on his head at last, and his hoe keeping 
time to such quick music that Sam's had no need to come in, 
and then there was nothing to do but to wait for the last won- 
derful revelation. 

It came at last, and representatives from nearly all the fami- 
lies in the village were there to witness the concluding scenes. 

Every one for miles around had heard some whispers, at least, 



120 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



of the lonely tree and the ghostly chalking on the rickety barn- 
door, and spades and hoes were dropped for that day, and the 
fence round Jerry's field bristled with almost every shade and 
shape of horse and vehicle tied to its posts. The last directions 
on the barn-door had been to begin digging at the outer lines of 

the field and proceed systematically, 
thus reducing the square by each row 
of potatoes in turn. The potatoes 
were to be made over to Sam Dyer, 
and by the time the middle of the 
field was reached, if not hefore, the 
treasure should be found. Sam, 
James Redpath, and two others had 
come to help. Tom was working 
like a veteran, but Jerry was ahead 
of every one of them, and making 
the earth fly as if the witches were 
there indeed. 

" He 's gone clean mad," muttered 
Farmer Martin. 

One row of potatoes after another 
was torn open to a good 



depth, and the ground hur- 
riedly examine d. No 
treasure yet. 

" Where 's the money- 
pot ? Bring on the money- 




JEREY FINDS THE MOXEY-POT. 



pot ! ' ? voices began to 
s h o u t, and faster a n d 
faster worked Jerry's 

spade. One by one Sam Dyer's wagons were filling up with 

potatoes and moving off to a corner of the field. 

" Getting up to the middle row ! " " Short furrows this 

time ! " " Their hoes '11 clash pretty soon at this rate ! " " Look 



JERRY SLACK'S MONEY-POT. 121 

at Jerry! Sheet lightning has got into him!" were some <>i 
the remarks heard on every hand, and still no money-pot. The 
workers began to drop off, as the narrowing square left room 
for only Jerry, Tom, Sam, and Jim, one to each side. 

Jerry was working like a beaver, and only three hills of pota- 
toes to the square now. Suddenly he left his row and struck 
into the very centre. 

Hark ! Jerry's spade had clashed upon something with a 
sound of metal! The voices of the visitors ceased; the crowd 
could hear the clinking now. He stooped, pulled, tugged, and 
lifted something up ! A wild, deafening shout rose on every 
side ; Jerry was holding a rusty iron pot, lined with hard silver 
dollars, in his hands ! For one moment it seemed as if the old 
fence would come down with the hurrahs ami hat-swinging that 
shook it, and then there was a rush for Jerry. Two stout fel- 
lows mounted him on their shoulders, the rest fell into line, and 
with shouts and cheers the bewildered hero was '"toted," money- 
pot and all, triumphantly home to the front gate of the broken 
fence. 

Great was the excitement for a few days : but after a few 
weeks the mystery began to clear, and a pretty plain story to 
rise up in its place. The ring of gossipers sat in their old place 
in the post-office one evening, when the door opened and in 
came Jerry himself. 

"Look here, Sam Dyer!" he said, ''hollow trees and old 
stumps and raps are all well enough in their way, but I M just 
like to ask you if the hull of that there money-pot business 
was n't this : I worked like a good fellow all summer at potato- 
raising, and then sold my crop to you, and you gave me good 
market price for it, when 'twas dug?" 

The shout that went up was answer enough, and from that 
day till the snow came Jerry was busy clearing the stones from 
his useless pasture and transforming them into a solid, handsome 
Avail. 



122 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

The next year saw pasture and potato-field both blossoming 
like the rose, the old house tidying up, and Jerry himself be- 
coming such a model worker that the neighbors used to laugh 
as they went by, and nod to each other with a knowing wink. 



THE TWO BRASS KETTLES. 

I was introduced to them in an unexpected way, and I did 
not soon recover from the intense curiosity excited by my first 
impressions of them. 

I had gone to the. old Minot House, in Dorchester, Massachu- 
setts, to take dinner with my aunt. We two, my aunt and I, 
had wandered over the old house, up the huge stairway, and 
down into the cellar. Suddenly Aunt opened the door of an old 
pantry, on the floor of the porch, and said, " Child, look here ! " 

"What, Aunt?" 

" The Two Brass Kettles." 

Two enormous brass kettles met my eyes. They were turned 
over on the floor, and each would have held the contents of a 
half-barrel. 

" Those are the ones, my dear." 

"What ones, Aunt?" 

" The ones that saved the two children from the old Indian 
straggler." 

" What Indian straggler? " I asked with intense interest. 

" Oh, the one in King Philip's War. Did n't you ever hear 
the story ? " 

"No, Aunt." 

" Well, I '11 get Uncle Zebedee to tell it to you after dinner. 
Come." 

" But what could any one do with such kettles as these ? 
Where did they hang them?" I continued. 



////•: TWO BRASS KETTLES. 123 

"Come here, and I will show you." 

She swept away, and I shut the door of the dark room, 
which was lighted only by opening the door, and followed her. 
We went into the kitchen. She [jointed to an enormous fire- 
place, and said, '* There, child ! " 

"But, Aunt, how did the Two Brass Kettles save the chil- 
dren ? " I asked again. 

k4 0h, they crawled about all over the floor here, there, and 
yonder," pointing. 

"Which crawled about, the kettles or the children, Aunt?" 

A din here fell upon the air, and echoed through the great, 
fortress-like rooms. It was the huge bell for meals. 

'•Come, child, let's go. Uncle Zebedee will tell you all 
about it." 

In a moment we were in the dining-hall. How grand it all 
seemed ! The sideboard was full of baked meats and steaming 
pies. Over it hung a flintlock gun or a blunderbuss. The 
room had been decorated for the occasion with creeping-jenny, 
and boughs loaded with peaches that had been broken off by 
a September gale. There was a whitewashed beam across the 
room, on which were great hooks and staples. The table was 
oak, and the chairs were of a curious old pattern. At the head 
of the table was a great chair, and in it sat Uncle Zebedee, 
a good old man, now nearly ninety years of age. 

After the family were seated, Uncle Zebedee was asked to 
say grace. He had a habit of saying "and" after ending a 
sentence, and this made another sentence necessary, often 
when he had nothing more to say. It was so even in his prayers, 
and was very noticeable in his story-telling. There usually fol- 
lowed an **and " when the story was done. 

it was a queer structure, — the old Minot House in Dor- 
chester. It was really a brick house encased in wood, — a fort 
house it was called. It was built in this way to protect the 
dwellers against rude Indian assaults. There is but one house 



124 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

standing that resembles it, — the Craclock Mansion in Medford. 
There were many such houses in the old colonies, but one by 
one they grew ' gray with moss and vanished. The Minot 
House itself was burned about twenty years ago, after standing 
about two hundred and thirty years. 

The old people of Dorchester and Neponset must remember 
it. It rose solemn and stately at the foot of the high hills over- 
looking the sea meadows. The high tides came into the thatch 
margins near it, and went out again, leaving the abundant 
shell-fish spouting in the sun. The fringed gentians grew amid 
the aftermath of the hay-fields around it. The orioles swung 
in the tall trees ' in summer-time ; and ospreys circled and 
screamed in the clear sky over all. 

But the orchards, — here were the fulness and perfection of 
the Old New England orchards ! The south winds of May 
scattered the apple-blossoms like snow over the emerald turf, 
and filled the air with fragrance. The earliest bluebirds came 
to them, and there the first robins built their nests. How 
charming and airy it all was in May, when the days were melt- 
ing into summer ; and how really beautiful and full of life were 
all of these venerable New England homes ! 

After the old house was burned, I visited the place, and 
brought away a few bricks as a souvenir of a home of heroic 
memories, — of happy memories, too, if we except a single 
tragedy of the Indian War. The great orchards were gone, 
the old barns and their swallows ; only the well remained, and 
a heap of burned bricks, and the blackened outline of the cellar 
wall. 

It was a house full of legends and stories, — wonder tales 
that once led the stranger to look upon it with a kind of super- 
stitious awe. It had its historic lore, and like all great colonial 
houses, its ghost lore : but the most thrilling legend associated 
with the old walls was known as the Two Brass Kettles. The 
legend may have grown with time, but it was well based on 







THE CRADOCK .MANSION, MEDFORD. 



THE TWO BRASS KETTLES. 127 

historic facts, and was often tukl at the ample firesides of three 
generations of Dorchester people. 

The dinner, like Uncle Zebedee's prayer, seemed never to 
end. After the man)- courses of food there was an " and," — 
"•and" pies and apples and nnts, and all sorts of sweetmeats. 

k - Uncle Zebedee," I piped. 

" Well, dearie." 

" Aunt said that you would tell us the story of Two Brass 
Kettles after dinner/' 

" Why, dearie, yes, yes. I 've been telling that story these 
eighty years, come October. Didn't you never hear it? I 
thought all little shavers knew about that. The Two Brass 
Kettles, yes. 

" They're in the old cupboard, now. Bring them out, and I 
will tell you all about 'em. I sha'n't live to tell that story 
many more years. Maybe I shall never tell it again." 1 

The servants brought out the two kettles into the kitchen, 
where we could see them through the wide dining-room door. 

" Put 'em in the middle of the floor before the window," said 
Uncle Zebedee. " There, that will do. That is just where 
they were when the Indian came. 

" You see the window," he added. 

It had a great deep-set casement. Grape-vines half-curtained it 
now on the outside, and the slanting sun shone through them, 
its beams glimmering on the old silver of the table. It was past 
the middle of the afternoon of the shortening days of autumn. 

"You have all heard of Philip's War," began Uncle Zebedee, 
leaning forward from his chair on his crutch. " Everybody 
has; it destroyed thirteen towns in the old colony, and for two 
years filled every heart with terror. Philip struck here, there, 
and everywhere. No one could tell where he would strike next. 
The sight of an Indian lurking about in the woods or look- 
ing out of the pines and bushes usually meant a mascree 
[massacre]. 



128 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" One Sunday in July, in 1675, the family went to meeting, 
leaving two small children, a boy and a girl, at home, in the 
charge of a maid named Experience. The kitchen then was as 
you see it now. The window was open, the Two Brass Kettles 
had been scoured on Saturday, and placed bottom upward on 
the floor, just as you see them there. 

" It was a blazing July day. The hay-fields were silent. 
There was an odor of hayricks in the air, and the bobolinks, 
I suppose, toppled about in the grass, and red-winged black- 
birds piped among the wild wayside roses, just as they do now. 
I wish that you could have seen the old hay-fields in the long 
July afternoons, all scent and sunshine ; it makes me long for 
my boyhood again, just to think of them. But I never shall 
mow again. 

" Let me see, — the two children were sitting on the floor 
near the two kettles. Experience was preparing dinner, and 
had made a fire in the great brick oven, which heated the 
bricks, but did not heat the room. 

" Well, on passing between the oven and the window, she 
chanced to look toward the road, when she saw a sight that 
fixed her eyes, and caused her to throw up her hands with 
horror, just like that." 

Uncle Zebedee threw up both hands, like exclamation points, 
and let his crutch drop into his lap. 

" Well, the maid only lost her wits for a few moments. She 
flew to the window and closed it, and bolted the door. Then 
she put one of the children under one of the brass kettles, and 
the other child under the other kettle, and took the iron shovel, 
and lifted it so, and waited to see what would happen, and — " 

Uncle Zebedee lifted his crutch, like an interrogation point, 
and we could easily imagine the attitude of the excited maid. 

" And — where was I ? " 

" The children were under the Two Brass Kettles, and the 
maid was standing with the fire-shovel in her hand so — " said 
Aunt. " La, I 've heard that story ever since I was a girl." 



THE TWO BRASS KETTLES. 129 

" Yes, yes ; I have it all now," said Uncle Zebedee. "She 
was standing with the fire-shovel up so, when she discovered 
that the Indian had a gun, — a gnu. 

"You see that old flintlock there, over the sideboard? I used 
to tire it off every Fourth of -July, but the last time 1 tired, it 
kicked me over once — don't you never tire it, children. It 
always kicked, but it never knocked me over before. I don't 
think that I am quite as vigorous as I used to be, and — " 

"What did the maid do with the gun?" asked Aunt. 

" The gun, — yes, that was the gun, the one up there. The 
gun was up in the chamber, then, and she dropped the shovel 
and ran upstairs to find it. But it was not loaded, and the 
powder was in one place and the shot in another, and in her 
hurry and confusion, she heard a pounding on the door, just 
like that." 

Uncle Zebedee rapped on the old oak table with startling 
effect, and then, after a moment's confusion, continued, "She 
loaded the gun, and went down to the foot of the stairs, and 
looked through the latch-hole of the stair door, so, — and, — 
yes, and the Indian was standing at the window. That window. 
His two eyes were staring with wonder on the Two Brass 
Kettles. He had probably never seen a kettle like these 
before, and he did not know what they were. 

"While he stood staring and wondering, the kettles began 
to move. Two little hands protruded under the bail of each of 
them, like turtles' paws, for the kettles stood on their ears, 
which lifted them a little way from the floor. One of the 
children began to creep and to cry, moving the kettle. The 
other began to do the same. The cries caused the kettles to 
ring. Two creeping kettles ! They looked like two big beetles 
or water turtles, and such the Indian might have thought them 
to be, but they bellowed like two brazen animals, and — did you 
ever hear a child cry under a kettle?" said Uncle Zebedee, 
with a curious smile. 



130 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



We all confessed that we never had. 

" Then, child 2 you just get under one of those kettles and 
holler. You needn't be afraid, — there ain't no Indians now 
to do ye any harm. Holler loud ! " 

I did so. 




AN INDIAN ALARMED. 



u Do you hear that?" said Uncle Zebedee. "You never 
heard such a sound as that beforfc. Hollow as a bell. Just 
like a man with lungs of brass and no body. There, let an- 
other little fellow try it." 

Another child was placed under one of the kettles, and 



THE TWO BRASS KETTLES. 131 

uttered a continuous cry. The sound rang all over the 
room. 

" There," said Uncle Zebedee, "did any one ever hear any- 
thing like that? It rings all over the room, scary-like. 

"Well, the children did not know about the Indian, and 
they began to creep toward the light of the window, moving 
the kettles like two enormous beetles, and crying and making 
the kettles rumble and rumble all around, boom-oom-oom, just 
like that. The Indian's black eyes glowed like fire, and he 
raised his gun and tired at one of the kettles. But nothing 
came of it; the shot did not harm the child under the kettle. 
It frightened both of the children, and made them cry the 
louder and louder, and scream as though they were frantic. 
• Uffh!' said the Indian, w Him no goot." 

" The kettles were all alive now, moving and echoing. He 
was more puzzled than before. What kind of creatures could 
these be with great brass backs and living paws, and full of 
unheard-of noises like those ? ' Ugh ! ugh ! ' said he. just like 
that. The kettles kept moving and sounding, and the Indian 
grew more and more excited as he watched them. Suddenly 
he threw up his great arms and turned his back, and — now it 
all goes from me again." 

" He said k Ugh ! ' and threw up his arms and turned his 
back," prompted Aunt. 

"And the maid opened the stair door and fired," continued 
Uncle Zebedee; "she drew quickly back, and waited for the 
family to return. The children continued to cry. But they 
were safe, as they could not overturn the kettles, and bullets 
could not reach them. The family came in an hour in great 
alarm. They had seen human blood in the road, but no Indian. 

" A few days afterward the Indian's body was found in some 
hazel-bushes by the brook. It was buried in the meadow there, 
and — " 

"The Indian's grave," said Aunt, prompting. 



132 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" Yes, I used to mow over it when I was a boy, and — " 

"That is all, Uncle Zebedee," said Aunt. "You've got 
through now." 

" Yes, I 've got through now. I don't think that I shall ever 
tell that story, again — and — " 

There was something pathetic, and yet beautifully prophetic, 
in the continuance. The slanting sun shone through the old 
window, and the chippering of birds was heard in the fields. 

Uncle Zebedee never did tell the story again. The final con- 
junction of his long peaceful life came soon after he told the 
tale to me. The violets and mosses 'cover him in the old Dor- 
chester burying-ground. The old house is gone, the two kettles, 
the gun, and even the gray stone from the field that rudely 
marked the Indian's grave. 



CHASED BY A PRAIRIE-FIRE. 

I WAS travelling with an emigrant and his family in a prairie 
schooner, as the large covered wagon in which pioneers move 
is called. The emigrant had a large family of children, whoni 
he called Mercy Ann, Ned, Bob, Tom, Kit, and Nick. He also 
had a babe, to become some future Congressman, perhaps, from 
the West. 

I pitied the mother. She was a true, good woman; nearly 
all pioneer mothers are. 

One night I was roused from my slumbers by the children, 
who were awake, and the older of whom seemed greatly 
excited. 

" O-o-o-o ! I never did ! Mercy Ann, get up and look ! " 

A second small, dark face, the exact counterpart of the first, 
peered into the starlight, and another low, wondering voice 
exclaimed, — 



CHASED BY A PRAIRIE-FIRE. 133 

"Never did /, neither. Ned, get up! " 

Ned rolled hastily over, disturbing Bob, who leaped erect, 
hitting his head against a saucepan, which fell heavily into the 
upturned face of sleeping Tom. A terrified bounce precipitated 
Tom across the stomach of little Nick, who cried out distress, 
edly, calling forth from the next wagon the query, — 

" What's the rumpus, children ? " 

**The prairie's all afire!" exclaimed a chorus of voices. 
" And it's steerin' straight this way," added Bo)). 
. "And we 're so scared," said Mercy Ann and Kit, huddling 
close together with chattering teeth. 

" Hear it roar," shouted Ned, excitedly. 

The father put his head through an opening at the back 
of the tented wagon, listened intently for a moment, and 
replied, — 

"Fudge! it's nothin* but the wind ye hear a roarin'. The 
fire 's miles away, and a crick or sunthin' else '11 stop its course 
long enough afore it scorches us. Pack yourselves away ag'in 
and stop yer cacklin' afore ye set the wee un a squallm', 
and rouse the mother up. Go ter sleep, go ter sleep," lie 
grumbled, drawing in his head and soon relapsing into sleep. 

The "cacklin"' subsided into mysterious whispers, and the 
little emigrants " packed " themselves, but not to sleep. Six 
small faces were framed within the narrow opening of the 
tented wagon, and the starlight quivering over them revealed 
a pictured medley. — blended terror and admiration, eager 
excitement and awe. 

"It's like the very biggest sea on fire," said Mercy Ann. 

"And the tide a comin' in on fire, too." said Kit. 

"An' wolcanoes busthin' up all over it," said tongue-tied 
Tom. 

"Red V yaller 'n' purple 'n' — My! 1 see — y-e-a-s. "s 
true's I'm an emigrant, I do — squads *n' squads of soldiers all 
afire, marchin' n" countermarchin'. Ye needn't ffiersrle, Bob 



134 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

Fillerbuster — guess I know what 't is to march V counter- 
march," said Ned, in a growing whisper. 

" He ain't gigglin' ; hesth 's shakin' with skeer," interposed 
Tom. 

" Ain't no .such thing ! I 'm tiyin' not to sneeze V rouse 
daddy ag'in," said Bob, elbowing Tom wrathfully. "Yes, I 
see the soldiers now ; thousan's 'n' thousan's on 'em, right down 
at the edge of the tide. Cricket ! how their legs go ! They 're 
playin' crack the whip." 

"That fire '11 rout- the wolvthes 'n' snakthes 'n' prairie 
dogths," said Tom 

" Look ! look ! tip yonder 's all afire too. Are there prairies 
in the shy ? " whispered Kit, in amazement. 

Wonderful ! Above the purple blackness that overhung the 
burning prairie burst a crimson glow. Was it a watchfire set 
on high to lure the footsteps of that mystic host, marching and 
cduntermarching down by the edge of the sea ? 

" Must be on the high land we came over to-day," said Ned. 
" Did ye mind how tall -and dry the grass was up there ? Wild 
hosses could n't outrun that fire. Hark ! Hear that ! " 

" Prairie wolves," whispered the children, huddling closer 
together. 

"Back to yer nests, all on ye!" whispered Ned, excited^, 
seizing the old sharpshooter. "I'll mount guard, V defend 
the camp, 'n' watch the fire." 

Kit and Nick crept into a bedquilt together, and shaped 
themselves into a tight, round roll, that shook like a bowl of 
disturbed jelly. Bob and Tom lay down upon the straw and 
engaged in courageous whispers, and trembled in their boots. 
But the distant growling died away, and only the wind made 
noises in the tall, dry grass. The children stopped trembling 
and began to wink. Pretty soon they stopped winking and 
began to sleep. 

The stars quivered on through the night; the watchfire in 



CHASED BY A PRAIRIE-FIRE. L35 

the sky burned brighter and brighter; the mysterious soldiers 
marched nearer and nearer, while the tired little picket 
slumbered. 

Something more than the roaring of the wind roused our 
sleeping senses at length. The cattle were breaking camp. 
The baby's face was all aglow. The tire was coming upon us. 
I saw that we were in danger. 

"For the horses! " shouted the emigrant, in a hoarse, excited 
voice. 

"■They've broken camp with the cattle,'' cried Ned, pointing 
to the bellowing, neighing herd escaping over the prairie. 

" Lord, pity us ! " groaned the father, with a wild, white face. 
" it's comin' fast. Run fer yer lives!" he cried, snatching the 
baby from the mother's grasp, and driving the children before 
him like a herd of frightened deer. 

But. alas ! what was frail human strength when measured by 
that of the Fire Spirit? Faster and faster rolled the flames, 
and slower and slower grew our speed. The baby became a 
burden in his father's arms. The mother sank breathless upon 
the grass, and the children dropped sobbingly around her. 

"'Heaven have mercy on us ! We can't go no further," said 
the father, in a dry, choked voice. "Say yer prayers, childrun, 
and speak a word fer poor wicked daddy, fer he can't." A sob 
choked away the rest of the sentence, and the father folded his 
arms in mute despair, looking down upon his family with the 
fear of a dreadful doom written on his countenance. 

But a shout of hope arising from the lips of Ned reanimated 
the despairing family. Right into the glow of the oncoming 
flames dashed four horsemen, weird and wild enough in ap- 
pearance to seem the leaders of the fire soldiers, but they were 
human riders. 

•• Injuns ! " muttered the father, with a gleam of hope light 
ing up his face. 

"They've spied the wagons, and are makin' for 'em," said 
Ned. 



136 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



" Well, they 're welcome to all they can get; though Heaven 
knows all we have on arth is in the wagons," said the father, 
sadly. " Can we make 'em hear, think ye ? " 

" Now boys '11 shout with ye, daddy. Now, then — Hip ! " 
cried Ned, raising his voice lustily, joined by all the rest. 




THE INDIANS DREW NEAR. 



The " hello " reached the ears of the Indians. They wheeled 
about in the direction whence it came, listened until it was 
repeated, held a hurried consultation, then turned again and 
were soon engaged in loading clown the ponies with the contents 
of the wagons. 

" There '11 be little chance for us with all the ponies packed 



CHASED BY A PRAIRIE-FIRE. 137 

with plunder. I "in afeared the red .skins' greed will turn out 
stronger than their pity," said the father, anxiously. 

The fire was now hard upon the wagons, but the Indians 
worked fearlessly and fleetly, until a great portion of the goods 
were tied up in quilts and blankets, and placed upon the 
ponies ; then leaping astride the plunder, they dashed along 
toward the place where we were waiting in breathless suspense. 
The children trembled with new terror on seeing the Indians 
draw near, with their scarlet blankets flying in the wind, and 
their dark faces making fierce pictures in the flickering fire- 
light. 

"They'll seal]) us, they will .'" cried Kit, clinging to her 
mother's neck, faint with fright. 

"Hush, darlin* ; they'll save your life, maybe." said the 
mother. 

The Indians halted to reconnoitre the group, one of them 
counting upon his fingers the number of the family, and shak- 
ing his head doubtfully at his companions. 

"For the love of mercy, save the mother and children.'* 
pleaded the father, with imploring gestures. 

The Indians disputed together in unintelligible gibberish, 
measuring the distance of the oncoming flames, and viewing 
first the emigrants and then their plunder in an undecided 
manner. Suddenly, one of the company seemed to have hit 
upon a plan that was assented to by all but one in whose breast 
avarice proved stronger than pity. With a disapproving grunt 
he spurred his pony and hurried away, leaving his companions 
heaping fierce execrations upon his retreating head. The re- 
maining three dismounted, and in a twinkling threw the 
plunder to the ground and began hoisting the mother and 
children to the ponies' backs, one of the Indians holding up two 
fingers and saying. " No," by a significant shake of the head. 

" One of ye '11 have to stay behind with daddy, lie means: 
there ain't room fer all. Go, Xed, yer the biggest; mother '11 



138 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



need ye most. Which one '11 stay with daddy ? " said the 

father, in a faltering voice. 

The children ' looked into each other's pale faces. Mercy 

Ann and Kit stretched up their arms beseechingly to their 

mother. " / can't ! I can't ! " cried Bob, springing frantically 

on to one of the 
ponies. 

Tom, little 
tongue-tied Tom, 
who had trem- 
bled in his boots 
at the distant 
growling of 
wolves, stood 
out the hero of 
the night, with 
the spirit of a 
Casabianca shin- 
ing in his face. 

" I '11 s t h a y 
with daddy," 
he said, slipping 
down from his 
place behind his 
mother into his 
father's arms. 

" God bless ye, 
my brave sonnie ! 
Ye '11 stay with 
daddy, will ye?" 
The Indians pointed to the baggage, made backward gestures 

with their hands, and the ponies dashed away. 

" D' ye think they will come back for uth, daddy ? They 

made ath if they would with their handths. We might run a 

little wayths." 




"faster, faster, BOT ! " 



THE LITTLE SIOUX'S WARNING. 139 

"No, no, my boy; daddy's lame, ye know. We couldn't 
get fur, and they might lose us if we left the plunder. They '11 
have to git here very soon if — don't ye see 'em eomin', Tom'.'' 
Yer eyes are sharper ''n mine." 

" No ; and the tire ith comin' stho fasth. If God had made a 
crick right over there ! Maybe there iths a crick, daddy ! We 
didn't sthee the hill. You know the alwayths mosth is." 

A cry of hope interrupted Tom. " I did n't see it ! Likely "s 
not — perhaps the good Lord — rim, Tommy — can't ye keep 
up with lame daddy? Faster, faster, boy ! " 

On, on, over the hill. What was there below? Only a creek 
making music all to itself down among the rushes at the bottom 
of the ravine, — but the river of life it was to the father and 
little boy, who soon rested safely on the other side. It was that 
to which the Indians had mysteriously pointed. 

The fire stopped there. From some safer place the Indians 
saw that it had been arrested, and soon out of the smoke they 
came returning the mother and babe, the children and baggage. 
And then, with nothing in the world left but his family, the 
emigrant knelt down and gave thanks to God. 



THE LITTLE SIOUX'S WARNING. 

A STORY OF THE SIOUX WAR. 

Ix the summer of 1862, while we were living in the new 
State of Minnesota, an experience fell to my lot which I regard 
as one of the most remarkable that I have ever met. 

i was a small girl at the time, my tenth birthday coming in 
that same month of August in which these extraordinary events 
occurred, and on the very day — the 18th — on which the terri- 
ble Sioux massacres of Minnesota broke out at the Lower Agency, 
as the station was called, and which soon desolated such a large 
portion of that fair land with fire and blood. 



140 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

We lived at Lac Qui Parle, or rather quite close to it, for we 
were a full mile from the place, where at that time the devoted 
missionary, Amos Huggins, and his young wife and two children 
were stationed. 

There were only three of us, — father, mother, and myself. 
We had moved to Minnesota three years before, the prime object 
of my parents being to improve their health, for both were threat- 
ened with consumption. At the same time, they felt a natural 
eagerness to try their fortunes in a new country, where there 
always seems to be more cause for encouragement than at home. 

The first year father and mother were much benefited, but 
not long after, father began to fail. I was too young to notice 
the signs at the time, but I recall them now. I remember how 
he used to take his chair out front in pleasant weather and sit 
there during the balmy afternoons, so still, with his eyes looking 
off at the blue horizon or into the solemn depths of the vast 
stretch of wilderness, which came down to a point scarce a 
stone's throw from our door. 

He would sit there so long and so quiet, that sometimes I 
thought he was asleep, and would steal softly up to him ; but 
when I did so, I could notice that his eyes were wide open, 
though he did not seem to know what was going on around 
him. Mother used to steal to the door sometimes and peep 
quietly at him, and then raise her finger and shake her head in 
a warning way for me not to disturb him, and then her white, 
sad face would disappear in the door again. 

Then again she would sometimes come out and sit down 
beside father, and, taking his hand in hers, they would talk long 
and earnestly in low tones. I was too young, I repeat, to under- 
stand all this at the time, but it was not long afterwards that 
the truth came to me. 

Father was steadily and surely declining in health, and he 
knew he was doomed to die ; but the same climate which was 
thus killing one of my parents was healing the other, for mother 



THE LITTLE SIOUX'S WARNING. 141 

became strong and robust, and the seeds of the dreadful disease 
soon left her system altogether. 

There is nothing which makes us feel so hopeful as strong-, 
sturdy health ; and when mother felt the life-blood bounding 
through her veins, and her strength increasing, she could not 
quite fully realize that it was different with father. 

She tried to encourage him, and really believed his weakness 
was oidy temporary. There were times when he caught a little 
of her hopefulness, and thought it possible he was going to get 
well. Consumption, 1 am sure, is the most deceptive of all ail- 
ments in this respect. 

But these self-deceptions did not last long. He saw that 
death had marked him for its own. and ;i deep melancholy set- 
tled over him, which in reality hastened the ravages of the disease. 
He became touchingly tender and loving to mother and me and 
when he was not sitting in front of the house, in his dee}), sor- 
rowful reveries, or if the day was stormy, at the window, look- 
ing out into vacancy, lie was fondling and caressing one of us. 

I remember that more than once I saw tears in his eyes. 
though I could not tell why ; for he and mother agreed to keep 
his fears, or rather his certainty of what was fast coming, from 
me, and 1 never once suspected that death was already looking 
into our window upon us. 

Scarcely a day passed that I did not see some of the Indians 
who were scattered through that section. The Sioux seemed to 
be everywhere, and in going to and coming from the Agency, 
they would sometimes stop ac our house. 

Father was very quick in picking up languages, and he was 
able to converse quite intelligently with the red men. How I 
used to laugh to hear them talk in their odd language, which 
sounded to me, for all the world, just as if they were grunting 
at each other like so many pigs. 

But the visits used to please father and mother, and I was 
always glad to see some of the rather dilapidated and not over- 



142 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

clean warriors stop at the house to get something to eat and to 
talk with father. 

I recall one hot day in June, when he was sitting under the 
single tree in front of the house, his chair leaning back, his feet 
resting on the seat of another, while he was looking away off 
towards the setting sun, as though striving to pierce the blue 
depths of space, and to catch just one glimpse of the wonderful 
world • beyond. I was in the house helping mother when we 
heard the peculiar noises which told us that father had an abo- 
riginal visitor. We both went to the door, and I passed out- 
side to laugh at their queer talk. 

Sure enough, an Indian was seated in the other chair, and he 
and father were talking with great animation. 

The Indian was of a stout build, and wore a hat like father's, 
— the ordinary straw one, — with a broad red band around it ; 
he had on a fine black broadcloth coat, with silk velvet collar, 
but his trousers were shabby and his shoes were pretty well 
worn. His face was bright and intelligent, and I watched it 
very narrowly as he talked and gesticulated in his earnest way 
with father, avIio was equally animated in answering him. Their 
discussion was of more than ordinary importance. 

The Indian carried a rifle and revolver, — the latter being in 
plain sight at his waist, — but I never connected the thought of 
danger with him as he sat there in converse with father. 

I describe this Indian rather closely, because he was no other 
than the celebrated chief Little Crow, who was at the head of 
the frightful Minnesota massacres which broke out within the 
succeeding sixty days, and who even then was perfecting his 
plans for one of the most atrocious series of crimes ever perpe- 
trated in our histoiy. Little Crow was a thoroughly bad Indian, 
who would have accepted food with one hand while he drove 
the knife into the heart of his friend with the other. 

The famous chieftain staj^ed till the sun went down. Then 
he suddenly sprang up and walked away at a rapid, shuffling 



THE UTILE SIOUX'S WARNING. 14H 

walk in the direction of Lac Qui Parle. Father called good-by 
to him, but he did not make a reply, and soon disappeared in 
the woods, through which his path led. 

The sky was cloudy, and it looked as if a storm was coming-; 
so, as it was dark and blustering, we remained within doors the 
rest of the time. There was no thunder or lightning, but a line 
drizzling rain began falling, and the darkness was intense. It 
was really impossible to see anything at all beyond the range of 
the rays thrown out by the candle burning on the table near the 
window. The evening was well advanced, and father had 
opened the Bible, with the purpose of reading a chapter before 
prayers, as was his rule, when there came a rap upon the door. 

It was so gentle and timid that it sounded like the pecking of 
a bird, and we all looked inquiringly in the direction, uncertain 
what it meant. The next moment it was repeated, and then it 
kept on in a way which no person would do who knew anything 
about knocking. 

" It is some bird, scared by the storm," said father, '-and we 
may as well admit it." 

I sat much nearer the door than either of my parents, and 
instantly sprang up and opened it. As I did so, 1 peered down 
in the gloom and rain for the bird, but sprang back the next 
moment with a low cry of alarm. 

•• What 's the matter?" asked father, hastily laying down his 
Bible and walking rapidly towards me. 

"It isn't a bird; it's a person." As I spoke, a little Indian 
girl, about my own age, walked into the room, and looking in 
each of our faces, asked in the Sioux tongue whether she could 
stay all night. 

I had closed the door and we gathered around her. She had 
the prettiest, daintiest moccasons, though her limbs were bare 
from the knee downward. She wore a large shawl about her 
shoulders and down almost to her ankles, while her coarse black 
hair hung loosely below her waist. Her face was very pretty, 



144 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



and her eyes were as black as coal and seemed to flash fire upon 
Avhomsoever she looked. I never beheld a more animated 
countenance. 

Of course, her clothing was dripping with moisture, and her 
call filled us all with wonder. She could speak only a few 




IT IS N T A BIRD. 



words of English, so her face lit up with pleasure when father 
addressed her in the Sioux tongue ; and straightway a lively 
conversation began between them. 

As near as we could find out her meaning, her name was 
Chit-to ; and father gathered from her that she lived with her 
parents at Lac Qui Parle. There were several families in a 



THE LITTLE SIOUX'S WARNING. 145 

spot by themselves, and they had begun a carouse that day ; 
that is, they had supplied themselves plentifully with lire-water, 
and were all drinking at a fearful rate and just the same as if 
they were white men. 

At such times the Indian is dangerous, and these carousals 
nearly always end in crime and murder. Little Chit-to was 
terrified almost out of her senses; and when she saw the 
knives, tomahawks, and pistols doing their deadly work, she 
fled through the storm and darkness, not caring where she 
went, but only anxious to get away from the dreadful scene. 

Entering, without any intention on her part, the path in the 
woods, she followed it until she caught the glimmer of the light 
in our window, when she hastened to it and asked our 
hospitality. 

I need scarcely say it was gladly granted. My mother re- 
moved the damp clothes from the little Sioux girl, and replaced 
them with some warm, dry ones belonging to me. At the 
same time, she gave her hot, refreshing tea, and did everything 
in her power to make her comfortable. 

In this Good Samaritan work I did all I could, as was natural 
in one of my tender years. I removed the little moccasoRS 
from the wondering Chit-to's feet, rubbed the latter with my 
hands to bring back the circulation, kissed her dark cheeks, 
and while flying about in the aimless manner peculiar to child- 
hood, I was continually uttering expressions of pity which, 
though in an unknown tongue, I am quite sure were under- 
stood by Chit-to, who looked the gratitude she could not 
express. 

When father read the Bible, she listened in her wondering 
way, and then, as we all knelt and prayed to God, she imitated 
our movement, though it cannot be supposed that she under- 
stood what it meant. Then she began to show signs of drowsi- 
ness and was put to bed with me, falling asleep as soon as her 
head touched the pillow. 

10 



146 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

I lay awake a little longer and noticed that the storm sub- 
sided. The patter of the rain was heard no more upon the 
roof, and the wind blew just as it sometimes does late in the 
fall. At last I sank into slumber. 

I awoke in the morning and saw the rays of the sun entering 
the window. Recalling the incidents of the previous evening, 
I turned over quickly to see and speak to my young friend. 
To my surprise she was gone, and supposing she had risen a 
short time before, I hurriedly dressed myself and went down to 
help keep her company. 

But she was not there, and father and mother had seen 
nothing of her. The investigation that father then made 
showed that she had no doubt risen in the night and stolen 
away. Very likely she was afraid of the vengeance of her 
parents for fleeing, and, as the rainfall had ceased, she hastened 
back through the woods to their wigwam. 

There was something curious and touching in the fact that 
she had groped about in the darkness, for she could not have 
used a light, until she found her own clothing, which she 
donned and departed without taking so much as a pin that 
belonged to us. 

We all felt a strong interest in Chit-to, and I was sensible 
of something akin to strong friendship. Father allowed me to 
go with him a few days later when he visited Lac Qui Parle, 
and he made many inquiries there for the little girl, but he 
could find out nothing. No one seemed to know to whom we 
referred, and we went home — especially I did — very much 
disappointed, for I had built up strong hopes of taking her out 
with me to spend several days. I was sure that it wouldn't 
take us more than a couple of days to learn each other's 
language. At any rate, we would learn to understand each 
other in that time. 

We went several times after, and neglected no effort to dis- 
cover Chit-to : but we did not gain the first clew. 



THE LITTLE SIOUX'S WARNING. 



147 



On the afternoon of August 19, father was sitting in his 
accustomed seat in front of the house, and mother was engaged 
as usual about her household duties, while I was playing and 
amusing myself as a girl of my age is inclined to do at all times. 
The day was sultry and close, and I remember that father was 



•--j*>y 




3tf 




unusually pale and weak. He coughed a great deal, and sat a 
long time so still that I thought he must be asleep. 
"Mother," said I, "what is that smoke yonder?" 
1 pointed in the direction of Lac Qui Parle, the stretch of 
woods lying between us and the station. She saw a dark 
column of smoke floating off in the horizon, its location being 
such that there could be no doubt it was at the Agency. 



148 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

"There is a fire of some kind there," she said, in a low voice, 
as if speaking to herself, while she shaded her eyes with her 
hand, and gazed long and earnestly in the direction. 

"The Indians are coming, Edward," she called to father; 
" they will be here in a few minutes ! " 

As she spoke, she darted into the house and came forth with 
father's rifle. Knowing how weak he was, she intended to use 
it herself. 

Brief as was the time she was away, it was long enough for 
a galloping horse to come in view. Suddenly a splendid black 
steed thundered from the wood, and, with two or three tre- 
mendous bounds, halted directly in front of me. As it did so, 
I saw that the bareback rider was a small girl, and she was our 
little Sioux guest, Chit-to. 

She made a striking picture, with her long black hair stream- 
ing over her shoulders and her scant dress fluttering in the 
wind. Her attire was the same as when at our house, excepting 
she had not the cumbersome shawl. 

" Why, Chit-to," said I, in amazement, " where did you come 
from ? " 

" Must go — must go — must go ! " she exclaimed, in great 
excitement. " Indian soon be here ! " 

So it seemed that in the few weeks since she had been at our 
house, she had picked up enough of the English tongue to make 
herself understood, though it is not impossible that she knew 
enough when our guest, but chose to conceal it. It is very hard 
to fathom all the whims and peculiarities of the Indian race. 

" What do you mean ?" asked mother, as she and I advanced 
to the side of the black steed upon which the little Sioux sat ; 
" what are the Indians doing ? " 

" They burn buildings — have killed missionary — coming dis 
way!" 

Chit-to spoke the truth, for the Sioux were raging like de- 
mons at that very hour at Lac Qui Parle, and one of their first 



THE LITTLE SIOUX'S WARNING. 149 

victims was the good missionary, Amos Huggins, whose wife 
and children, however, escaped through the friendliness of some 
of the Sioux. 

-What shall we do, Chit-to?" 

" (ret on horse — - he carry you." 

" But my husband; the horse cannot carry all three of us." 

" He hide in wood." 

My poor distracted mother scarcely knew what to do. All 
this time father sat like a statue in his chair. A terrible suspi- 
cion suddenly entered her mind, and she ran to him. Placing 
her hand upon his shoulder, she addressed him in a low tone, 
and then gave utterance to a fearful shriek, as she staggered 
backward. 

k - ( ) Heaven ! lie is dead ! " 

Such was the fact. The shock of the news brought by the 
little Indian girl was too much, and he had expired in his chair 
without a struggle. Mother would have swooned but for the 
imminence of the danger. The wild cry which escaped her was 
answered by several whoops from the woods, and Chit-to became 
frantic with terror. 

k * Indian be here in minute ! ,s said she. 

Mother instantly helped me upon the back of the horse and 
then followed herself. She was a skilful equestrian, but she al- 
lowed Chit-to to retain the 1 iridic. The horse moved off on a 
walk, and the whoops were heard again. Looking back I saw a 
half-dozen Sioux horsemen emerge from the wood and start on a 
trot toward us, spreading out as if they meant to surround us. 

Several shots were tired which must have come close to us, 
but just then Chit-to gave the horse rein, and he bounded off at 
a terrible rate, never halting until he had gone two or three 
miles, by which time I was so jolted that I felt as if I should die 
with pain. 

Then, when we looked back, we saw nothing of the Indians, 
and the horse was brought down to a walk , and finally, when 



150 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

the sun went down, we drove into a dense wood, where we 
stayed all night. 

I shall not attempt to describe those fearful hours. Not one 
of us slept a wink. Mother sat crying, moaning, and weeping 
over the loss of father, while I was heart-broken, too. Chit-to, 
like the Indian she was, kept on the move continually. Here 
and there she stole as noiselessly through the wood as a shadow, 
while playing the part of sentinel. 

At daylight we all fell into a feverish slumber, which lasted 
several hours. When we awoke we were hungry and miserable. 

Seeing a settler's house in the distance, Chit-to volunteered to 
go to it for food. We were afraid she would get into trouble, 
but she was sure there was none and went. 

In less than an hour she was back again with an abundance 
of bread. She said the house was deserted, the occupants hav- 
ing, no doubt, become terror-stricken ; but the Sioux had not 
visited it as yet. 

We stayed where we were for three days, during which we 
saw a party of Sioux warriors ride up on horseback and burn the 
house and out-buildings where Chit-to had obtained the food for 
us. 

It seemed to mother that the Indians would not remain at Lac 
Qui Parle long, and that we would be likely to find safety there. 
Accordingly, she induced Chit-to to start on the return. Poor 
soul ! she was yearning to learn what had become of father's 
body. When we reached the house nothing was to be seen of 
it, but she soon discovered a newly made grave, where she had 
reason to believe he was buried. As was afterwards ascertained, 
he had been given a decent burial by orders of Little Crow 
himself, who doubtless would have been glad to protect us had 
we awaited his coming. 

We rode carefully through the wood, and when we emerged 
on the opposite side our hearts were made glad by the sight of 
the white tents of United States soldiers. Colonel Sibley 
was encamped at Lac Qui Parle, and we were safe at last. 



LITTLE MOOK. 151 

Chit-to disappeared from this post in the same sudden fashion 
as before ; but I am happy to say that I have seen her several 
times since. Mother and I were afraid her people would punish 
her for the part she took in befriending us, but they never inter- 
fered with her at all. Probably the friendship which Little 
Crow evinced toward our family may have had something to do 
with the leniency which they showed her. 



LITTLE MOOK. 

There once lived a dwarf in the town of Niceu, whom the peo- 
ple called Little Mook. He lived alone, and was thought to be 
rich. He had a very small body and a very large head, and he 
wore an enormous turban. 

He seldom went into the streets, for the reason that ill-bred 
children there followed and annoyed him. They used to cry 
after him, — 

" Little Mook, O Little Mook, 
Turn, oh, turn about and look ! 
Once a month you leave your room, 
With your head like a balloon : 
Try to catch us, if you can ; 
Turn and look, my little man." 

I will tell you his history. 

His father was a hard-hearted man, and treated him unkindly 
because he was deformed. The old man at last died, and his 
relatives drove the dwarf away from his home. 

He wandered into the strange world with a cheerful spirit, 
for the strange world was more kind to him than his kin had 
been. 

He came at last to a strange town, and looked around for 



152 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



some face that should seem pitiful and. friendly. He saw an 
old house, into whose door a great number of cats were passing. 
" If the people here are so good to cats, they may be kind to me," 



he thought, and so he followed them, 
woman, who asked him what he wanted. 



He was met by an old 
He told his sad story. 
" I don't cook 
any but for my 
darling pussy 
cats," said the 
beldame ; " but 
I pity your hard 
lot, and }-ou may 
make your home 
with me until 
you can find a 
better." 

So Little 
Mook was em- 
ployed to look 
after the cats 
and kittens. 

The kittens, 1 
am sorry to say, 
used to behave 
very badly when 
the old dame 
went abroad ; 
and w hen she 
came home and 
found the house 

in confusion, and bowls and vases broken, she used to berate 

Little Mook for what he could not help. 

While in the old lady's service he discovered a secret room in 

which were magic articles, among them a pair of enormous 

slippers. 




I.ITTLE MOOK. 



LITTLE MOOK. 153 

One day when the old lady was out the little dog broke a 
crystal vase. Little Mook knew that lie would be held respon- 
sible for the accident, and he resolved to escape and try his for- 
tune in the world again. He would need good shoes, for the 
journey might be long: so he put on the big slippers and ran 
away. 

Kan? What wonderful slippers those Mere! He had only 
to say to them. w "(io!" and they would impel him forward with 
the rapidity of the wind. They seemed to him like wings. 

"1 will become a courier," said Little Mook, "and so make 
my fortune, sure." 

So Little Mook went to the palace in order to apply to the 
king. 

He first met the messenger-in-ordinary. 

"What!" said lie, "you want to be the king's messenger, — 
you with your little feet and great slippers ! ,- 

" Will you allow me to make a trial of speed with your swift- 
est runner ? " asked Little Mook. 

The messenger-in-ordinary told the king about the little man 
and his application. 

"We will have some fun with him," said the king. "Let 
him run a race with my first messenger for the sport of the 
court." 

So it was arranged that Little Mook should try his speed 
with the swiftest messenger. 

Now the kino-*s runner was a very tall man. His 1cqs were 
very long and slender: he had little flesh on his body. He 
walked with wonderful swiftness, looking like a windmill as he 
strode forward. He was the telegraph of his times, and the 
king was very proud of him. 

The next day the king, who loved a jest, summoned his court 
to a meadow to witness the race, and to see what the bumptious 
pygmy could do. Everybody was on tiptoe of expectation, 
being- sure that something amusine would follow. 



154 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



When Little Mook appeared he bowed to the spectators, who 
laughed at him.' When the signal was given for the two to 
start, Little Mook allowed the runner to go ahead of him for a 
little time, but when the latter drew near the king's seat he 
passed him, to the wonder of all the people, and easily won the race. 

The king was 
delighted, the 
princess waved 
her veil, and 
the peopl e all 
shouted, "Huzza 
for Little 
Mook ! " 

So Little Mook 
became the royal 
messenger, and 
surpassed all the 
runners in the 
world with his 
magic slippers. 

But Little 
Mook's great 
success with his 
magic slippers 
excited envy, 
and made him 
bitter enemies, 

'THE DECIDKD-ON AMPUTATION.' ^ ^ j^ ^ 

king himself came to believe the stories of his enemies, and 
turned against him and banished him from his kingdom. 

Little Mook wandered away, sore at heart, and as friendless 
as when he had left home and the house of the old woman. 
Just beyond the confines of the kingdom he came to a grove of 
fig-trees full of fruit. 




LITTLE MOOK. 155 

He stopped to rest and refresh himself with the fruit. There 
were two trees that bore the finest tigs he had ever seen. He 
gathered some tigs from one of them, but as he was eating them 
his nose and ears began to grow, and when he looked down into 
a clear, pure stream near by, he saw that his head had been 
ehanged into a head like a donkey. 

He sat down under the other fig-tree in despair. At last he 
took up a fig that had fallen from this tree, and ate it. Imme- 
diately his nose and ears became smaller and smaller and re- 
sumed their natural shape. Then he perceived that the trees 
bore magic fruit. 

" Happy thought ! " said Little Mook. " I will go back to 
the palace and sell the fruit of the first tree to the royal house- 
In ild, and then I will turn doctor, and give the donkeys the 
fruit of the second tree as medicine. But I will not give the 
old king any medicine." 

Little Mook gathered the two kinds of figs, and returned to 
the palace and sold that of the first tree to the butler. 

Oh, then there was woe in the palace ! The king's family 
were seen wandering around with donkeys' heads on their 
shoulders. Their noses and ears were as long as their arms. 
The physicians were sent for and they held a consultation. 
They decided on amputation ; but as fast as they cut off the 
noses and ears of the attlicted household, these troublesome 
members grew out again, longer than before. 

Then Little Mook appeared with the principles and remedies 
of homoeopathy. He gave one by one of the sufferers the figs 
of the second tree, and they were cured. He collected his fees, 
and having relieved all but the king he fled, taking his homoeo- 
pathic arts with him. The king wore the head of a donkey to 
his latest day. 



156 ZIGZAG STORIES, 



THE "DOO-LU SHAD-USE." 

A TIGER STORY TOLD BY HUGH THE LINEMAN. 

" I once had charge of the repairs of a section of track on 
the Madras Railway between the stations of Jooa and Kuppur- 
pore, in the Deccan, five hundred and twenty miles up from 
Madras," said Old Hugh, one evening. " I had eight miles in 
charge ; it is a fine line, all steel rails, and the road-bed is kept 
in splendid order.' It is owned by an English company; all 
the material is brought out from England. A railroad here 
costs $80,000 to the mile, while Yankees would build it for 
$20,000 ; for it is a good country to run a line through, mostly 
level, and not at all ledgy or marshy. 

" It astonished me, in a country so thickly populated, to see 
so much game ; there were a great many deer and wild cattle. 
The natives rarely have energy enough to hunt. 

" Tigers were pretty numerous, thereabouts. As we went 
along the track on the hand-car I often had glimpses of them 
in the edges of the thickets. The Englishmen hunt them. 

" Commonly the tigers in this quarter of India are shy ; they 
run at sight of a man, and are no more to be feared, ordinarily, 
than a black bear in the United States ; but now and then a 
tiger gets to be what the natives in this district call ' doo-lu 
shad-uee,' — that is, an eater of man's flesh-, — when he becomes, 
without exception, the most dangerous, bloodthirsty brute in 
the world. 

" The natives here never fear a tiger unless he has become 
' doo-lu shad-uee.' 

" When they hear that one of these man-eaters is about, a 
perfect panic spreads. The people will not so much as venture 
outside of their villages. 



THE "DOO-LU SH A/>. UEE." 157 

•• Such a tiger will grow so bold in a week or two that he 
will dash right into a village and seize the first native he sees ; 
he will even rush into the huts and drag the poor wretches i lit 
of their beds. Human blood he is determined to have. 

" It is thought that such tigers get their first taste of human 
blood accidentally. They are not by any means common. I 
had never even heard of one until I had been at Jooa live 
months or more : and I was subsequently told a ' doo-lu shad- 
uee ' tiger had not been known thereabouts before for ten 
years. 

" Going to the station early one morning, in order to make 
the usual trip along the line before the express went up, I 
found my four native track-men waiting for me with the hand- 
car on the rails ; but I noticed that they were much disturbed 
and excited about something, — so much so that they even for- 
got their usual kindly, polite, 'salam'to 'boss-sahib,' as they 
called me. 

•'Their names, by the way, were Karem, Buksh, Gulab Sing, 
Neendo Sing, Ummed Lodianah; Gulab and Neendo were 
brothers, line young fellows. These Hindu laborers always 
become very much attached to a foreman who treats them 
well. They are quick to understand orders, and have very 
mild, affectionate dispositions. 

"I said 'Good-morning,' and 'Go ahead, boys,' but they 
hesitated ; then Karem spoke. 

" ' There is an eater of man's flesh come to Sukooah, sir,' said 
he, very gravely. Sukooah is a little hamlet betwixt Jooa and 
Kuppurpore, near the line. 

" ' An eater of man's flesh '? What 's that ? ' said I. 

" ' A tiger doo-lu shad-uee, sahib,' Ummed explained. ' A 
monster ! " 

" They went on to tell me, with frightened looks, that he 
had seized a woman but the evening before, and that the folks 
at Sukooah were all shut up close in their houses for fear of him. 



158 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



" ' Nonsense ! ' I said. ' Go ahead. He won't touch us.' I 
thought it a matter of no account. But it was plain to see 




that the men were much 
alarmed. As we came 
up near Sukooah, and 
after passing it, their 
eyes scanned the bushes ; 
and once or twice where 

we stopped to put in a new ' tie ' or drive a few fresh spikes, 
they seemed in real terror, peeking this way and that like fright- 
ened hares. 



A "doo-lu shad-uee." 



THE " DOO-LU SHAD-UEE." 159 

i4 But we saw nothing, neither that morning nor during the 
week, of the tiger; there were reports, however, every day of 
its having caught men and women at Sukooah. When one 
of these man-eaters has made a successful foray into a village, 
it will rarely leave that particular vicinity till killed. 

" But this was the first time that I had ever heard of their 
habits. I supposed that the stories were vastly exaggerated, 
and the subject did not bear with much weight on my mind. 
I did not even think it worth while to carry my carbine on the 
hand-car. 

" But not more than three or four months after, I had ample 
proof of the ferocity and boldness of these abnormally tierce 
brutes. Coming back over the section from Kuppurpore station, 
I had stopped to put in a new rail, not more than a mile from 
Sukooah. After getting off the hand-car, we waited ten or 
fifteen minutes for the express to pass, then unhung the old 
rail and laid in the new one which we had brought along on 
the car. 

" Karem and Gulab were holding it in place with their bars. 
Ummed was driving spikes with a sledge, and Neenclo had 
stepped to the car where I stood, for more spikes. 

" Suddenly, and as quick as a flash of light, a tiger burst 
from the thicket back twenty yards, perhaps, from the rails, 
and came, as it seemed to me (for I saw him when he started), 
with one bound into our midst. He seemed to shoot like a 
dart close to the ground, — one long yellow streak. The crea- 
ture seized Gulab, who stood back to him ; he was gone with 
the poor fellow down the bank and into some brush on the 
other side of the track almost as quickly as he had rushed out. 
Not a sound did the beast make till he caught Gulab; then 
he gave the ugliest, worst-sounding growl that I ever heard. 

" I caught up a croAvbar and gave chase ; Ummed and Karem 
came on after me with their sledges. But I might as well have 
tried to chase a whirlwind. The animal ran faster than a horse : 



160 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



I had two glimpses of it at a distance, racing on from thicket to 
thicket, getting farther off every moment. 

" The ' through Bombay freight ' was due now in a few 
minutes ; I had to hasten back to set the rail. So paralyzed with 
fright were my poor fellows, that I had to drive the spikes myself. 




: THE NEXT MOMENT I WAS KNOCKED HEADLONG." 



We had seen the last of the luckless Gulab. Another man, 
named Musik Kyasth, was hired to go on the section in Gulab's 
place ; and I need hardly state that thenceforward I carried my 
gun and kept a sharp eye out, — as sharp as did the hands, who 
lived and worked in constant fright. 

" Three or four days afterwards, we saw a tiger cross the 



THE "DOO-LU S II AD- LEE." 161 

track fifteen or twenty rods ahead of us. He turned, facing us, 
hearing the ear coming. Standing up, I tired at him, at which 
he trotted down the bank and was out of sight when we passed. 
'•Meantime, if rumors were true, not less than eight persons 
had been killed, three or four of them dragged out of their huts, 
either in the early evening or morning. 

" I think it was on the following Monday morning that we 
had our second experience with tins bloodthirsty creature. 

" Some new ties were needed to be put in at a culvert half a 
mile or thereabouts below the place where the tiger had seized 
Gulab. On the north side of the tracks were thickets within a 
few rods, but on the south side only a few scattered bushes 
amid grass knee-high. 

" So, while the men worked in the little culvert, I stood on 
the track close to them with my carbine cocked, and watched 
the thickets on the north side, facing in that direction. 

" On a sudden, Ummed and Karem gave a shout and sprang 
towards me, one with his bar, the other with a shovel. I thought 
they were going to assault me. 

" The next moment I was knocked headlong by a tremendous 
blow from behind, and heard the same ugly growl. The tiger 
seized Musik, the new man, and dragged him, despite his strug- 
gles, into the thicket long before I could regain my legs and fire. 
" I think the brute's first aim had been for me ; but he leaped 
at me with such violence that he fairly pitched me head-fore- 
most into the culvert among the others. 

•'Ummed saw the animal start from behind a little bush on 
the south side of the track, where he had lain watching us, 
while I was watching the jungle on the other side. 

" Pursuit was useless with any hope of saving Musik's life. 
I had the culvert patched up, then went down to Jooa and got 
the depot-master. He and I together reconnoitred the thickets 
for several hours, hoping to be able to shoot the monster ; the 
thickets were very dense and thorny. 

11 



162 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" The sun getting up high and hot, we went back to Jooa, 
and telegraphed to Madras for some of the officers of the garri- 
son to come up and hunt the tiger. In an hour or two we 
received word that five or six of them would come the next day 
on the mail train. 

" But meantime I hit upon a stratagem for entrapping the 
animal. It was suggested to me by stories which, my old grand- 
father used to tell of catching bears in what he called a ' log-fall.' 
The depot-master and I, with the section hands, set to work and 
built a hut of old ties," boards, and brush up near the culvert. 
Inside the hut we made an effigy to resemble a Hindu laborer 
as closely as possible. This ' dummy ' we placed some five feet 
inside the doorway, and over the intervening space we set up a 
' dead-fall ' consisting of six old rails betwixt two pairs of stakes 
having a drop of near five feet ; the foot of the prop supporting 
this mass of iron rested on a roundish cobble-stone set on a loar 
beneath. 

" A ' trip line ' was then strung from the prop across the door- 
way of the hut. Later in the day a goat was killed, and after 
dragging it along the track each side, we threw it into the hut 
behind the dummy. My idea was that if the tiger were to 
come along and sight the effigy inside the hut, he would rush in 
to seize it and spring the dead-fall. 

" But the contrivance stood as we had left it when we went 
up past it next morning. 

" At three that afternoon the hunting-party from Madras 
came. There were a colonel, a major, two captains, and a lieu- 
tenant, with three servants, a pack of hounds, and many breech- 
loading rifles and smooth-bores. Word was sent out to gather 
a party of fifty or sixty natives for ' beaters,' and the grand hunt 
was set for the following morning at four o'clock. 

" The party camped in the station building that night. There 
were high anticipations of an exciting episode. At daybreak 
the hunt was called, and the whole party mustered. We took 



THE TIGER-HUNTER OF MADRAS. 163 

our distinguished guests up the line on the hand-car and a small 
' flat ' used for carrying rails. 

" As we passed my humble device for trapping the tiger, I 
pointed it out, merely for the sake of furnishing them a little 
amusement ; and the Major ran down the bank to look at it. 

" But a loud exclamation from that martial gentleman drew 
us all after him. 

" Lo ! there lay the man-eater, a great sleek black and yellow 
mottled brute, with his big tongue out and a ton of steel rails 
across his back, dead ! The Nimrods stared. 

" Our visitors went back to Madras on the express disgusted, 
but took the tiger's skin. I rather thought that it belonged 
to me. 

" We had no further trouble there with tigers. Some six 
months afterwards, however, I participated in a very singular 
tiger-hunt at Moosurie, an account of which I may be able to 
give in a future story." 



THE TIGER-HUNTER OF MADRAS. 

TOLD BY HUGH AINSLEE AT AGEA. 

While sitting in the little depot at Jooa, one afternoon, in 
conversation with the station-agent, " Freight No. 13 " from 
Madras came on to the siding opposite to wait for the Bombay 
Express to pass. Attached to the long train of rice-cars were 
several flats, some with k * daks " on them, others with palanquins, 
and on the hindermost a very odd-looking object which at once 
attracted our attention, — the more that there seemed to be a 
man inside it. 

" What have you got on that rear car, Fales ?" my friend the 
agent called out to the conductor of the freight. 



164 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" You 've got me now ! " replied that official, with a laugh. 
" That 's a nondescript. No name on it. Billed to Yullodian. 
Walk up and see for yourselves, gentlemen. That is the ship- 
per inside ; name, Geeter Zoom Joogr, by trade a tiger-killer. 
But you won't find him talkative." 

The " nondescript " was a round cage-like structure, some 
twelve feet in diameter by six or seven in height. The bottom 
was of heavy black timber, and the flat top of the same, but not 
quite so massive ; while the sides were of thick, straight, brown 
bamboo rods or bars, set upright like stanchions in the black 
bed-pieces, with spaces betwixt them four or five inches wide. 
In short, it was a heavy round cage, made years and years ago, 
and of curious workmanship. 

But the old native inside it was a still greater curiosity. He 
was arrayed in a dirty blue cotton frock, and drawers, or trous- 
ers, ( of the same stuff. His feet were bare, — such feet ! They 
were so shrunken and bony, and of such shiny wine-brown 
hue, as to give one the idea that they had been calcined over a 
slow fire. 

The man was bareheaded, too, and, what is not common 
among Hindus, his hair, thin and in part gray, was braided in a 
queue down his back. 

The tightness of the skin across his brows gave to his counte- 
nance a strangely mummified expression, hardly relieved by the 
deep, dull black eyes and coarse thin eyebrows ; while the lower 
part of his face curiously marked with still coarser crinkled 
hairs, too scattering to be termed a beard. 

His general complexion was like an old, withered walnut. 
From the elbow down, his arms were bare ; and they seemed 
mere parcels of bone and sinew bound tightly up in sun-dried 
hide ; while his lean fingers like claws terminated in nails an 
inch or more long. Indeed, in the matter of personal appear- 
ance, Mr. Geeter Zoom Joogr was one of the very strangest, 
unhuman human beings I have ever chanced to meet in any 
country. 



THE TIGER-HUNTER OF MADRAS. 165 

Set against the side of the cage were two short spears, or 
lances, rive or six feet in length, with handles of some black 
wood, and thin, sharp, slender points of bright steel which shone 
like silver. These blades, or points, were of themselves nearly 
or quite two feet long ; altogether very ugly-looking implements. 

I did not find him at all communicative. He sat on a cane 
stool, with his back to the bars of the cage, and solaced the 
fatigues of his journey with an enormous pipe. 

My knowledge of Hindustani was not sufficient to make much 
impression on him at first. A few stolid responses were all that 
I could elicit from him. 

He said, or rather admitted, that he was going to Yuloodian 
to kill a tiger ; and that killing*' man-eating 1 tigers was his busi- 
ih'ss. Fifty rupees was his price for killing a dangerous tiger. 

He had made this his business for twenty years, since the 
Sepoy war. 

I felt very curious to know how the old man hunted, and 
asked permission to go up to Yuloodian and participate in the 
hunt. To this request he made no reply for a while, but upon 
my urging it several times, at length said, " The sahib can suit 
himself." 

Just then the express whistled in ; and as soon as it had 
passed, the freight, and with it Old Geeter and his cage, moved 
on. 

Late in the afternoon, after my duties on the section were 
over for the day, I went up on the " way freight " to Yuloodian. 
taking my Remington carbine and a stock of cartridges. 

It was one of those little Hindu villages, of perhaps two 
hundred souls, where the people were persecuted by a tiger, — 
a state of things hard to conceive of in America. But in India, 
where Buddhism prevails to some extent, it is contrary to re- 
ligion to kill any creature, even tigers and venomous snakes. 

It was dusk when I got off at Yuloodian. The agent said 
that Old Geeter had arrived at three o'clock with his cage, and 



166 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

that a party of natives with a bullock team had drawn it off to 
the village, half a mile away. Thither I proceeded on foot and 
alone. None of the natives were astir. The huts were all 
closed and dark. The people had shut themselves up at twilight 
for fear of the tiger ; for the savage beast now for several weeks 
had been accustomed to enter the hamlet at night, prowling 
around as it pleased. Twice it had seized persons within their 
very doors. 

But by dint of knocking and shouting I learned where the 
tiger-slayer had located his cage. I had only to follow the 
street, or rather path, leading through the hamlet and out at a 
gate into the open' country beyond. No one would venture 
forth at this hour to guide me ; but the distance was not more 
than three hundred metres beyond the gate in the stake-fence 
enclosing the hamlet; and I came upon the cage after a few 
minutes. It was set on the ground in the high "rayche " grass, 
a fe*w paces from the jungles and thorn thickets which skirted a 
"sarkee " (creek). 

Feeling a little uncertain as to how Old Geeter might re- 
ceive me, or how he might act if I came upon him by surprise, 
I called out, " God be with you ! " several times in Hindustani. 
I did not wish him to mistake me for a tiger, by any means. 
Perhaps I called more loudly than I need have done. " God 
be with you!" responded the old man in a low tone; but it 
was with an inflection and emphasis not in the least in keeping 
with those words. 

I ventured to draw nigher, however. Old Geeter was in his 
cage, sitting silent and on the look-out, like a spider in his den. 
This cage was his "place, of business, as one might say. 

After some parley I was admitted through a little trap-door 
in the top, which was securely buttoned down again ; but my 
reception was a most ungracious one. He grumbled ominously, 
in the native tongue, of my disturbing the night and breaking 
his spells. 



THE TIGER-HUNTER OF MADRAS. 



167 



Besides our two selves in the cage, there was the carcass of 
a goat to attract the tiger. Hour after hour of the damp, warm, 
dark night we sat crouched motionless there. Old fleeter 
neither spoke nor moved ; hut I could hear him breathe. Once 
we heard a short, querulous roar which I supposed to be that 
of a tiger at a distance ; but no tiger came near. 

Day broke at last, and when it had grown fairly light, we 




" I ESPIED TWO PLASHING UEBS 
IN THE HIGH GRASS.'' 

got out and went to the village, where the people had noAV 
begun cautiously to look forth from their doors. Several as- 
serted that they had heard and even seen the "karachu" 
(ravager) about the hamlet during the hours of darkness. 

I went back down to Jooa on the early morning " Mail " from 
Bombay, for my duties did not admit of my being absent a day ; 
but I arranged with Old fleeter to join him again that night. 



168 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

I may as well confess that I had to win his consent by a present 
of a few rupees. 

As I thought over his method of tiger-killing, it occurred to 
me that I could improve upon it. During my experience as a 
" curreio " in Brazil, I had often on my weekly journeys made 
use of a " bird-call " for wayside hunting ; and I had that 
identical old whistle still in my chest. 

My first plan was to imitate the bleating of a kid with it, 
thinking thus to attract the tiger ; but reflecting, after a few 
trials, that this was a tiger with a taste lor human flesh, I 
began to counterfeit the crying of a child, which I found no 
very difficult matter when once I had got the right key for it. 

I said nothing to Old Geeter of my trick when I reached 
Yuloodian that evening, but joined him as before. 

The night was very still. Several times the weird cry of a 
devotee in the distant village of Razotpore came faintly to our 
ears, over many miles. The stars shone down with a misty 
lustre. It was very damp, yet warm. 

Once a cloud of green, sparkling fireflies came, and drifting 
in betwixt the stout bars of the cage, fairly lighted it up with 
their glinting fires. Later a dolefully howling pack of jackals 
swept past us, eight or ten rushing up to sniff the goat's blood. 

Midnight drew on, and for a ^ong time all was utterly silent, 
save that an "ayshee" came near and "blew" shrilly several 
times, impatiently stamping its sharp hoofs on the dry turf. 

Then came a sound new, strange, and terribly realistic in this 
old land of an unprogressive race. With a ponderous roar and 
wide-spread jar and tremor of the staid old soil, a lurid red 
flashing of hot furnace doors, and the belching out of fire-lit 
steam and smoke, the long, heavily loaded " Freight No. 17 " 
from Madras went past. For miles and miles its thunderous, 
forceful rush and the echoes of its peremptory whistle and loud 
bell were borne back to us. Everything of nocturnal mystery 
and old-time legend and superstition, conjured up by the silence 



THE TIGER-HUNTER OF MADRAS. 169 

■and darkness, seemed shivered by it. It was an hour ere Old 
India and night had again regained possession of themselves 
round Yuloodian. 

Then once more, like a wail from dead, misguided millions, 
came the melancholy cry of the devotee, in his solitary and 
painful vigil; and not long after we heard the gruff bark, or 
grunt, of a prowling tiger from across the "sarkee." 

With that I softly drew out my "call," and began crying and 
sobbing like a child in distress. 

Old Geeter started and uttered a low exclamation ; then, as 
quickly divining my motive, he sat down again in his former 
listening posture. 

Several times I imitated the cry of Hindu children, 
" Maumay, maumay, maumay ; " then sobbed on as some little 
one lost in the jungle might do. 

Presently my old confrere whispered, " Becsh ! " ( " Hush! " ) 
" Beesh ! Tarku zo ! " ( " Hush ! The beast hears ! ") 

I had heard nothing, and continued to hear not a sound; fait 
the old native was grasping one of his spears, crouching on his 
knees, every muscle braced. 

Five or ten minutes passed. 

I fancied the old man's ears were hardly so sharp as he 
thought them. But on a sudden a low, eager snuffle, as when 
some carnivorous beast scents a gory morsel, broke the stillness. 
Looking intently through the darkness in that direction, I 
espied two flashing orbs in the high grass. 

Slowly, stealthily, and with scarcely a rustle of the dry stalks, 
those green-tinted, fieiy eyes were coming nearer. 

The carcass of the goat was hung up against the cage bars, 
inside it. 

When within twelve or fifteen yards, the creature seemed to 
fill at one bound from out the grass against the side of the cage, 
uttering a low intense growl. 

The cage rocked violently. I was thrown to one side ; but 



170 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

Old Geeter, better prepared for the shock than I, kept his 
crouching position ; and as the tiger clung, growling and tear- 
ing at the carcass, he thrust out his spear, giving it a slight 
wound. 

Astonished at the sharp prick, the great brute bounded off 
to one side, then, with a savage roar, sprang against the cage 
again, its eyes flashing, growling horribly, the picture of veno- 
mous wrath. The air was stifling with its musky breath. It 
wrenched and tore at the cage with its griping claws. The 
bamboo bars sprung and cracked frightfully. 

But this was the chance Old Geeter had waited for. Before 
I could take aim, or fire, he lunged with all his force, driving 
that long acute lance-point out betwixt the bars deep into the 
tiger's exposed breast. 

With a loud agonized cry, strangely in contrast with its deep 
bass growl and roar, the beast leaped backwards to the ground. 
It *was the animal's mortal cry ; and I never saw a more fearful 
death-struggle. 

Time and again it bounded high into the air, tumbling heavily 
down only to leap upward again. Its frightfully hideous cries 
might have been heard a league off. 

It must have been some minutes ere death relieved the 
animal's dying pains ; nor did we venture forth till it lay limp 
and breathless. Daylight showed it to be a very sleek yellow 
and black mottled tiger of the largest size. It had fattened 
on human flesh ; not less than thirteen persons, including chil- 
dren, had been its victims during the month it had beset the 
village. 

I remained to see the people of the hamlet come out at sun- 
rise to exult over the "karachu." They performed a kind of 
thanksgiving dance. Old Geeter remained with them, — to 
collect his pay, I presume. 

Two days later, I saw him pass Jooa in his cage on a freight 
train ; he looked as grim as ever. 



THE MAD JACKAL. 171 

THE MAD JACKAL. 

A TALE OF A BUDDHIST TEMPLE. 

" Dead Hindu ! Where — where ? There — there ! " 

Every one who has resided in India will understand what is 
meant by the above exclamatory phrases; the fancied utterances 
of an animal with which all travellers in Hindostan are but too 
familiar. — the pheal, or jackal. 

Though by nature a cowardly creature, the Indian jackal 
fears not to approach the habitations of man, where it is in a 
manner tolerated for its services as a scavenger. And wher- 
ever troops are in cantonment or on the march, it accompanies 
them, often in large numbers, skulking around the camp ami 
making night hideous with its wildly mournful " wa-wa-wa." 

But the soldier hates it for something besides its howling". 
He knows the brute to be ravenous as the wolf itself; and 
that it will not only eat up the scraps of meat left by the 
bivouac tire, but himself, should he be overtaken by death and 
not securely interred. It will even enter the walled cemetery, 
tear up the bodies recently buried, and devour them, though 
ever so far gone in decomposition. 

Like its near congener, the hyena, it is the veriest of pol- 
troons, and a child may put a full pack of them to flight. Yet 
there are occasions when the Indian jackal is a creature to be 
dreaded even more than the tiger itself ; and I have known one 
to keep a whole regiment of soldiers in mortal fear for the most 
part of a night. I myself was once constrained by the same to 
pass as irksome an hour as I ever remember. 

In India, of course, it was when, a young subaltern gazetted 
to the 11th Hussars. I had just joined my regiment, to find it 
on the eve of setting out upon a scouting expedition. On the 



172 , ZIGZAG STORIES. 

afternoon of the second clay we halted near the outskirts of 
a native village, where there was excellent camping-ground; 
a clear water stream, with a stretch of pasture on which to 
picket our horses. We had an eye also to fowls, fresh eggs, 
and other et ceteras likely to be obtained in the village as an 
adjunct to the ordinal rations of a regiment en route. 

Captain Congers, who commanded the troops to which I was 
attached, the first lieutenant, and myself messed together on 
the march ; and as soon as we were out of our saddles we 
despatched a couple of servants to the village for such prey in 
the way of tidbits as they could pick up. 

Almost immediately, and to our surprise, they came back 
empty-handed, with the explanatory report that the villagers 
were all shut up in their houses in such a state of affright that 
not one would venture out, much less do marketing ! More- 
over, there was loud lamentation in several families, as though 
each had lost one or more of its members ! 

The cause of all this was of course made known to our emis- 
saries, who in turn told us a mad pheal had run a-muck through 
the village and bitten some eight or ten of the people, — men, 
women, and children. 

As the occurrence had just taken place and the rabid animal 
was still believed to be in the village or its precincts, we little 
wondered at our purveyors returning as they had done. Others 
sent on a similar errand came back with like rapidity and 
equally light-laden. 

Though somewhat annoyed by the disappointment, we of 
course could not blame them, and did not, though I myself, new 
to Indian life, was half inclined to laugh at their fears. But 
my brother officers regarded it in a different light, Captain 
Congers saying, as we discussed our evening meal, — more 
frugal from this sinister circumstance, — that a jackal in a state 
of rabies is quite as dangerous as a mad dog ; sometimes more, 
since it will not only bite all who come in its way, man or 



THE MAD JACKAL. 173 

beast, but go out of its way to get at them, following up its 
victim with implacable pertinacity. " And its bite," added lie, 
" is nearly always fatal ; hydrophobia is almost certain to ensue. 
I have myself known of main' cases of men going mad from it; 
of horses, too, becoming infected and tearing others to the 
destruction of half a troop. While serving in the Central 
Provinces, where jackals are specially abundant, I had a valu- 
able charger bitten by one. The horse went mad, and set upon 
the ' syce ' who had charge of him with hoofs and teeth, man- 
gling the poor fellow in a fearful manner, so that he died in 
the greatest agony." 

While we were still seated at supper, and I was receiving 
this information strange as new to me, we became aware of 
a commotion in the camp, — a confused rushing to and fro, with 
cries proclaiming alarm. The place of our private bivouac was 
some distance from that occupied by our men ; and the night 
now on, a dark one, hindered us from seeing what caused the 
fracas. We learned it, however, by hearing only three words, 
but enough to explain all, for more than one voice was repeat- 
ing them in tones of terror, — 

" The mad jackal ! The mad jackal ! " 

We sprang to our feet with as much alacrity as if the rabid 
brute were already beside us. But it came not our way; nor 
were we even favored with a sight of it, though for over an hour 
after the camp was kept in a state of scare, as great as if sur- 
prised by the approach of a human enemy. Now it was " Mad 
jackal ! " here ; now there ; anon at some different and distant 
point, as could be told by shots and the shouts of those pursu- 
ing it. Yet after all this, the chased creature escaped destruc- 
tion in the darkness, no one knowing where it was or whither 
gone. 

ic Just possible," observed Captain Congers, when tranquil- 
lity had to some extent been restored and we were smoking a 
cheroot by our bivouac fire, — "just possible it wasn't the mad 



174 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

jackal, after all. More likely some other, as there must be 
scores of them prowling about the camp." 

"Pardon, Sahib Capen! " interposed one of our native attend- 
ants in waiting. " It de maclee pheal for shoo ; same dat bitee 
pleepuls in da village." 

" How know you that, my man ? " 

" De tail tell um so, sahib. Him no none gottee, — only 
leetle bit tump. De village pleepuls told me da one dat bit um 
hab no tail." 

Certainly this was ground for believing them, and far too 
satisfactory. We had heard that the jackal chevied about the 
camp was almost tailless ; and to learn it was so with that 
which had made havoc among the villagers, placed its identifi- 
cation beyond doubt. 

It was not till a late hour that the camp became quieted 
down and confidence re-established. Even then many remained 
under a sense of insecurity ; for, knowing the dangerous brute 
to be still at large, each naturally supposed it might stray his 
way and take a snap at him. So for a long while but few went 
to sleep ; most of those who did doubtless to dream of mad 
dogs. 

But there Avas something besides to keep us awake, — a drench- 
ing down-pour of rain that came on just as we were about to go 
to rest. As we were on scout and in lightest marching order, a 
small officer's tent to each troop was all the canvas we carried. 
This barely served the captain himself, though, of course, we 
subs were entitled to a share of it ; but in the warm tropical 
nights had preferred swinging our hammocks to trees and sleep- 
ing sub Jove. 

This night it was different, and we would have all squeezed 
into the tent, but that before supper my fellow-lieutenant and I, 
strolling some way into the woods, had noticed an old building 
in which there was a large room apparently rain-proof. A 
Buddhist temple or something of the sort we supposed it to be. 



THE MAD J AC KM.. 17.") 

Remembering it now, we had our hammocks transported 
thither and hung in the aforesaid room, which, sure enough, 
proved weather-proof. Luckily, we found hooks on the walls, 
though the two to which mine was hung were so high up I had 
some difficulty in mounting into it. 

As it had been a long day's march, we were both much fa- 
tigued and soon fell asleep. Nor did either of us awake till the 
bugles were sounding the " Reveille," hearing which my brother- 
officer sprang from his swing-couch and hastened to equip him- 
self ; as he did so, crying out to me, " Up, old fellow ! Look 
sharp! Our colonel's the greatest martinet in all the Indian 
army, — a very epitome of pipeclay, — and Captain Congers 
ditto. If we 're not at roll-call to a second, we '11 get black 
looks or something worse." 

Saying which, he slipped into his tunic, — the only garment 
either of us had taken off, — buckled his sabre-belt, clapped on 
his " busby," and was out of the room before I had time to get 
well awake. 

By nature of a somewhat somnolent habit, and then little 
accustomed to military promptness, moreover on that particular 
morning feeling unusually drowsy, I lay still awhile, regardless 
of the caution given me, even till I heard the " Assembly " 
sounded. Then, rousing myself, I sat up in the hammock, with 
legs over the edge, preparatory to springing out of it. Just 
then I became sensible of a strange smell pervading the room, 
— a fetid, powerful odor, such as might proceed from a combi- 
nation of fox and pole-cat. 

Casting my eyes below, I at once learned the cause. The 
room had but one window, a small aperture unglazed ; and just 
inside this, where it had entered, was an animal the sight of 
which sent a cold shudder through my frame, — for it was a 
jackal, without a tail, or but the stump of one. 

Its jaws were wide apart, with tongue protruded ; its eyes 
apparently on fire, its whole body panting and quivering in such 



176 , ZIGZAG STORIES. 

a way as clearly to proclaim it mad. I could have no doubt 
about this ; nor any of its being the same which had caused 
lamentation in the village and consternation in our camp. The 
absence of tail was evidence unmistakable. 

Still in the hammock, which was in violent oscillation from 
my effort to rise erect, I had no hope to escape being seen by it. 
In fact, it saw me already, — had seen me before I saw it, — 
and with eyes on me still, seemed gathering itself for a bound 
upward. 

As my legs were dangling down, I drew them up with a 
quick jerk, but not an instant too soon; for the beast did 
make its bound, passing the spot just vacated by my pedal ex- 
tremities, which, had they been still there, would certainly have 
been seized by it. 

The disappointment seemed to cause it surprise ,• as, for some 
time, after, it stood in a dark, distant corner of the room, quiet 
and cowering. But I knew it would not long remain so, and 
felt certain the attack would be renewed. 

Defensive weapon I had none; my pistols and sabre were 
suspended against the wall only a few feet beyond my reach. 
But they might as well have been miles away, since I dared not 
descend to the floor, and otherwise I could not get at them. 
There was, therefore, but the alternative of standing upon the 
defensive, and for this I had nothing save my tunic. Luckily, I 
had hung it on the slinging gear of the hammock close at hand. 

Meanwhile I had got upon my knees, and steadily balanced, 
with the netting and my blanket well up around me. So fold- 
ing the tunic shield-fashion I awaited the onslaught of the 
jackal. 

As yet I had uttered no shout ; instead, kept silent, as though 
I had lost the power of speech. This partly because I had no 
hope of being heard. The walls were thick, and the door, a 
massive structure, with self-shutting hinges, had slammed to 
behind my brother-officer as he went out ; while the little hole 



THE MAD JACKAL. 177 

of a window opened upon the woods, the side opposite to that 
on which lay the camp. Shout loudly as I might, it was not 
likely I would be heard ; all the less at such a time, with every 
one hurrying to answer the roll-call. 

But I had another reason for keeping still and preserving 
silence. If not further irritated, the animal might go out again, 
as it had entered, and leave me unmolested. 

Alas ! it did not, instead, the very opposite. Just as I had 
got poised on my unsteady perch, a fresh spasm of madness 
seemed to come over it, and again it rose, and rushed at me 
open-mouthed. 

I met it with the folded tunic, and buffeted it back to the 
floor, several times so foiling it in rapid repetition. Then it once 
more retreated to the dark corner, and there was an interregnum 
of rest, as if by an armistice agreed to between us. 

How long this lasted, I cannot tell : for the fear that was on 
me hindered calm reflection. I remember listening with all 
ears, in hope to hear voices outside. But as I had been myself 
shouting at loudest while in actual conflict with the jackal, and 
no one came, my hope was not a high one. I remember, too, 
thinking of what my fellow-sub had said ; and what a reckoning 
I would have with both colonel and captain. Even if I escaped 
in time to appear on parade, what a tale to tell ! An officer of 
Hussars held to his hammock — as it were, besieged in his bed 
— by an animal no bigger than a fox, a cowardly creature oft 
chased by children ! I should be ridiculed, laughed at beyond 
measure. 

My unpleasant reflections were brought to an abrupt ending 
by the jackal once more becoming excited and making a fresh 
attack on me. Just as before, it sprang up at me in successive 
attempts, which fortunately, as before, I succeeded in repelling. 
My tunic of scarlet cloth proved protective as a coat of scale- 
armor. 

Our second conflict terminated very much as the first, with 

12 



178 . ZIGZAG STORIES. 

an interval of rest succeeding ; only that in this my adversary, 
instead of returning to the dark corner, squatted down alono- 
the floor just under me. It was within convenient reach of 
sword-thrust ; and how I wished at that moment to be as near 
to my sabre ! With it in hand, I could have cut the Gordian 
knot in an instant. But it was not to be. 

Wellnigh despairing of escape, with my eyes wandering 
around the room, a thought flashed across my brain, inspir- 
ing me with a hope. In the hammock late vacated by my 
fellow-lieutenant, was his blanket, a large double one, within 
easy reach of my hand. Stretching out I seized hold of it, then 
spreading it out to its fullest extent, let it down upon the 
squatted jackal. 

The result was all I could have wished for, even better than 
I expected. Under the blanket the brute had got entangled, 
and was struggling to free itself, as a badger tied up in a bag. 
But I waited not to witness the finale, instead, jumped down 
from the hammock and rushed out of the room. 

Never were two hundred yards of space more quickly passed 
over by pedestrian than those that separated my sleeping-place 
from the camp. The most noted professional runner could not 
have done it in better time. And never did officer present him- 
self on parade-ground in such guise as I, — coatless, bootless, 
even without "busby," that crown of glory to the Hussars. 

My comrades were about to break out in a roar of laughter ; 
the colonel, on the other hand, was ready to receive me in a 
different fashion. But seeing the state of excitement I was in, 
all stayed to hear the explanation. 

It was easily given and as easily understood. The mad jackal 
was fresh in every mind, as also the knowledge of its having 
escaped. As a consequence, there was now a tail-on-end rush 
towards the old ruin, with a determination to put an end to the 
creature that had caused so much trouble. 

Its destruction was accomplished without any difficulty, I 



TWO LITTLE HOYS. 179 

myself being its destroyer. Armed with my tiger-rifle, through 
the aperture of the open window, I was able to get good sight 
on it, and send a bullet through its disordered brain. 

It had done damage enough as we learned afterwards, most 
of the villagers bitten by it dying of hydrophobia ; while the 
result of the " raggia " through our own camp was the loss of 
several horses, though luckily the men, both soldiers and camp- 
followers, escaped the fearful infliction. 

For myself, I could never afterwards look at a jackal — little 
feared as these brutes are — without a creeping sensation of the 
flesh, a belief in their being above all animals dangerous and to 
be dreaded. 

Since that day many a tiger have I killed, but never encoun- 
tered one with such fear as I felt when face to face with that 
tailless jackal inside the ruined shrine of Buddha. 



THE TWO LITTLE BOYS THAT WERE SUPPOSED 
TO HAVE BECOME TWO LITTLE BEARS. 

Ix the flowery land of Persia there once lived a goldsmith of 
great skill, and a painter of great renown. The two became as 
intimate as brothers, and finally each solemnly promised the 
other that he would be true to him in all things, and never do 
anything without his consent. 

Having made this agreement, they started on a journey, and 
at last came to a convent, where they were received as guests. 
It was not a Mohammedan convent ; but the monks placed so 
much confidence in the newly arrived artists as to disclose the 
places where the} 7 kept the golden and silver ornaments that 
were emblems of their faith. The artists were greedy of gain, 
and one night they stole all of these gold and silver images, and 



180 * ZIGZAG STORIES. 

fled to a country of the Islamites, where they took up their 
abode. 

Now any man who will act dishonestly towards a stranger 
will prove as untrue to a friend. Each of these friends, knowing 
that the other was wanting in principle, became jealous of the 
common treasure. But they agreed to put the gold and silver 
images into a box, and to spend only as much money, and that 
by mutual consent, as their necessities required. 

Now the goldsmith fell in love with an amiable lady, and 
married her, and he found his expenses much increased. The 
wife bore her husband two sons, of whom he was very fond and 
very proud. . . 

One day, when the painter was absent from the town, the 
goldsmith opened the box containing the treasures, and took one 
half of the gold and silver, and concealed it in his own dwelling. 

When the painter returned, he discovered the theft. He 
questioned the goldsmith about it, but the latter denied all 
knowledge of the robbery, and declared his own innocence. 

The painter was a shrewd man, and had a wonderful faculty 
of discovering secrets. He suspected the goldsmith of robbing 
the box, but resolved not to make his suspicions known until he 
should farther put them to the test. 

He had two bear cubs, which he had tamed, and which he 
Avas accustomed to feed from his own hands. In his yard was 
also a figure made of wood, and this figure he carved and 
painted so that it exactly resembled the goldsmith. He put this 
figure in a hidden place to which the cubs could go, and had the 
cubs thereafter fed by food put into the hand of the image. 
The cubs seemed to think that the figure was a man, and they 
became greatly attached to it. When hungry they would rub 
themselves against its legs, lick its feet, and act as a dog or cat 
would do in a like situation. 

One clay the painter invited the goldsmith and his two little 
boys to pay him a visit, and pass the night with him, which 



TWO LITTLE BOYS. 181 

invitation was accepted. In the morning he took the little boys 
out to see his place, and shut them up in an outhouse, where 
their father would not be likely to find them. 

"I must depart early," said the goldsmith to the painter. 
- Where are the boys ? " 

" A strange thing has happened, which has greatly astonished 
me, and which I hesitate to tell you, it will give you so great a 
shock." 

" Pray tell me at once what it is ! I hope nothing has hap- 
pened to the lads ? " 
- Indeed, there has ! " 
-What?" 

" They have become changed ! " 
-How?" 

" Into two little bears ! " 
« Impossible ! " 

" Yes ; while they were running about, all at once each turned 
into a little bear. Look out of the window into the yard. 
There they go now ! " 

The people of the East are very superstitious; and a man 
witli a guilty conscience is superstitious whether he live in the 
North, South, East, or West. When the goldsmith saw the two 
little bears, he believed the painter's word. 
a Why do you think this happened?" 

" I think it must have been on account of some great sin. Is 
their mother a good woman ? " 
" One of the best.*' 

" Have you anything on your own conscience ?" 
" Nothing," said the goldsmith, choking. 
" There they go ! " said the painter ; " just see them ! " 
The goldsmith shut his eyes at what was to him a horrible 
sight. 

"I shall take this case to the cadi," said the goldsmith. 
" I will go with you," said the painter. 



182 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



The cadi heard the goldsmith's story with astonishment, and 
said, — 

" What can this mean ? Never did such a thing happen since 
the coming of Mohammed. What proof have you of this amaz- 
ing story?" 




THE TWO BEARS BROUGHT INTO COURT. 



" I will bring the two little bears into court, and we will see 
if they will recognize their father," said the painter. 

The little bears were brought into the court. The painter 
had cunningly kept them hungry over night, and when he put 
them down, they ran at once to the astonished goldsmith, 



TWO LITTLE BOYS. 



183 



climbed his legs, and licked his feet, as they had been accus- 
tomed to do with the image. 

The cadi was greatly affected. The goldsmith was almost 
beside himself with grief and pity. 

" Oh, my poor little b — boys — bears — " 




THE BEARS RECOGNIZING THE GOLDSMITH. 



Not knowing whether they were boys or bears, he again re- 
verted to the cause of the dreadful misfortune. 

• k I have caused all this ! " lie said. k> I am a thief ! I stole 
the images ! " 

The painter seemed greatly shocked at this confession. 



184 ' ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" Let us take the bears home," said he, " and pray, now that 
you have confessed your sin, that they may be changed into 
boys again." 

" Oh, that this might be ! " said the goldsmith. 

" You will put back the treasures into the box again ? " 

"If Allah will but pardon me." 

The painter, on his return, shut up the little bears privately, 
and told the goldsmith to pray. 

The goldsmith prayed, uttering dismal groans. 

"I will go and see if 'your prayers have been answered," said 
the painter. 

They had. 

The painter presently appeared, leading by the hand the two 
little boys. 

" Allah be praised ! " said the goldsmith. " My prayers are 
accepted ! " 

The astonished cadi soon summoned the painter before him, 
to question him in regard to these wonderful things. The 
painter related the true story, and was commended for his 
wisdom. He might have been commended by a Mohammedan 
cadi, but he would hardly have been praised for his artful 
duplicity by a Christian judge. It is not a commendable thing 
to practise deceit, even to gain a knowledge of the truth. But 
this is a rather curious story, and happily illustrates Oriental 
character. 



THE BAFFLED KING. 

Rhampsinittts was one of the most magnificent of the 
ancient Egyptian monarchs. He was the father of Cheops, 
who built the Great Pyramid at Memphis for a tomb. 

He was richer than any of the kings who had been before 
him. So vast was his treasure, that he caused a stone house 



THE BAFFLED KING 



185 



to be built for it, and ordered the mason to construct it in sue]] 
a way that he (the king) only would know how to enter it. 

The commission was too great a temptation for the honesty 
of the master mason. He fitted a certain stone in the outer 
wall so that it might be removed by any 
one who knew the secret. 

The mason, soon after finishing the 




THE SACKS OF WINE LEAKING. 



treasure-house, was stricken down 
with a mortal sickness. He called his two sons to him, and con- 
tided to them the secret of the movable stone. 

The king visited his treasure-house often, to see that the 
seals were secure. One day he discovered that though the 
seals were secure, a considerable sum of money in one of the 
vaults was gone. 

A few days passed, and he discovered a further loss; and 
again and again. It was a great mystery to him. How could 



186 ' ZIGZAG STORIES. 

money be taken from the vaults by human hands while the 
seals were secure ? 

He set a man-trap, and so arranged it that if any one entered 
the vault he would be secured. 

At night the two sons of the mason came to rob the vault 
again, and one of them was caught. 

" My brother," said the captive, " I am a prisoner. Cut off 
my head, or both of us will be ruined. The loss of my head 
will save you." 

The brother did as advised. When the king came to visit 
the vault, he was astonished to find in it a man without a head. 

The king left the body in the vault, but set a guard. The 
body, in Egypt, was held to be the future home of the soul. Its 
loss or destruction was regarded as the greatest possible calamity. 

" The friends of the thief will try to recover the body," 
thought the king. " When they come for it, I will arrest them." 

When the mother of the dead thief learned the fate of her 
son, she was in great distress, and said to the other, — 

"Secure his body, or I will* myself go to the king and reveal 
the whole mystery. The treasures of Egypt are of less value 
than the body of my son." 

The thief was at his wits' end. He loaded some asses with 
skins of strong wine, and drove them towards the palace. Just 
before he reached the treasury-building, he loosened the necks 
of the skins so that the wine might leak. In this manner he 
appeared before the sentinels, seeming to be in the greatest dis- 
tress, running from one leaking wine-skin to another, and call- 
ing for help. 

The sentinels came to his assistance, but drank so much of 
the wine in their endeavors to fasten the necks of the skins that 
they lost their senses, and became dead-drunk. While they 
were in this condition, the thief secured the body of his brother. 

The king was more astonished than ever when he found that 
the body was gone. He at first knew not what to do. 




LEAVING HIS ARM BEHIND. 



THE BAFFLED KING. 



189 



er, 



He issued a proclamation. He had a very beautiful daught„ 

In the proclamation he gave permission to any man to court her 
who would answer her first questions ; one of her first questions 
was to be, — 

" Do you know who was the thief who robbed the treasury? " 




"THE SOX OF THE MASON APPEARED AND EXPLAINED THE SECRET.'' 

Many suitors came. The thief concluded to go ; but he first 
had made for him a false arm. 

When the beautiful princess asked him the leading question, 
lie answered, — 

- 1 do." 

"What is the most wicked thing that you ever did? " 



190 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" I robbed the royal treasury." 

" What the most clever ? " 

" I secured the dead body of my brother who helped me." 

"How?" 

" I made the sentinels drunk." 

The princess seized him by the arm, and held the arm ; but 
the man vanished. She found in her grasp nothing but an arm. 

The king was amazed. He issued another proclamation, 
offering free pardon to the man who would explain to him all 
these mysteries. His life and his treasures were all in danger 
from such a foe. • He must make him a friend, and turn his 
craftiness from ways of. evil to some royal good account. 

The son of the mason appeared, and explained the secret of 
the chain of mysteries. Herodotus says that Rhampsinitus gave 
the princess in marriage to him, which ought not to be true, 
fqr he deserved only the punishment of a common thief . But 
cunning was coin in Egypt in those days, and right and wrong 
were very little regarded. 



A MAN WHO SCARED AN ARMY. 

ABKIDGED FBOM "OLD DECCAN DAYS." 

Oxce upon a time, in a violent storm of thunder, lightning, 
wind, and rain, a Tiger crept for shelter close to the wall of an 
old woman's hut. 

At this moment a Chattee-maker, or Potter, who was in search 
of his donkey which had strayed away, came down the road. 
The night being very cold, he had, truth to say, taken a little 
more toddy than was good for him, and seeing, by the light of a 
flash of lightning, a large animal lying down close to the old 
woman's hut, he mistook it for the donkey he was looking for. 



A MAN WHO SCARED AN ARMY. 191 

So running up to the Tiger, he seized hold of it by one ear, and 
commenced beating, kicking, and abusing it with all his might 
and main. 

" You wretched creature ! " he cried, " is this the way you 
serve me, obliging me to come out and look for you in such 
pouring rain and on such a dark night as this ? Get up instantly, 
or I '11 break every bone in your body ! " So he went on scold- 
ing and thumping the Tiger with his utmost power, for he had 
worked himself up into a terrible rage. The Tiger did not 
know what to make of it all. 

The Chattee-maker, having made the Tiger get up, got on his 
back and forced him to carry him home, kicking and beating 
him the whole way, for all this time he fancied he was on his 
donkey ; and then he tied his fore-feet and his head firmly 
together, and fastened him to a post in front of his house, and 
when he had done this he went to bed. 

Next morning, when the Chattee-maker's wife got up and 
looked out of the window, what did she see but a great big- 
Tiger tied up in front of their house, to the post to which they 
usually fastened the donkey ? She was very much surprised, 
and running to her husband awoke him, saying, — 

" Do you know what animal you fetched home last night ? " 

" Yes ; the donkey, to be sure," he answered. 

" Come and see ! " said she ; and she showed him the great 
Tiger tied to the post. The Chattee-maker at this was no less 
astonished than Ins wife, and felt himself all over to find if the 
Tiger had not wounded him. But no ! there he was safe and 
sound, and there was the Tiger tied to the post, just as he had 
fastened it up the night before. 

News of the Chattee-maker's exploit soon spread through the 
village, and all the people came to see him and hear him tell 
how he had caught the Tiger and tied it to the post ; and this 
they thought so wonderful that they sent a deputation to the 
Rajah, or King, with a letter to tell him how a man of their 



192 ' ZIGZAG STORIES. 

village had, alone and unarmed, caught a great Tiger and tied 
it to a post. 

When Rajah read the letter he also was much surprised, and 
determined to go in person and see this astonishing sight. So 
he sent for his lords and attendants, and they all set off together 
to look at the Chattee-maker and the Tiger he had caught. 

Now, the Tiger was a very large one, and had long been the 
terror of all the country round, which made the whole matter 
still more extraordinary ; and all this being represented to the 
Rajah, he determined to confer all possible honor on the valiant 
Chattee-maker. So he gave him houses and lands, and as much 
money as would fill a well, made him a lord of his court, and 
conferred on him the command of ten thousand horse. 

It came to pass, shortly after this, that a neighboring Rajah, 
who had long had a quarrel with this one, sent to announce 
his intention of going instantly to war with him ; and tidings 
were at the same time brought that the Rajah who sent the 
challenge had gathered a great army together on the borders, 
and was prepared at a moment's notice to invade the country. 

In this dilemma no one knew what to do. The Rajah sent 
for all his generals, and inquired of them which would be will- 
ing to take command of his forces and oppose the enemy. They 
all replied that the country was so ill-prepared for the emer- 
gency, and the case was apparently so hopeless, that they would 
rather not take the responsibility of the chief command. The 
Rajah knew not whom to appoint in their stead. Then some of 
his people said to him, — 

"You have lately given the command of ten thousand horse 
to the valiant Chattee-maker who caught the Tiger ; why not 
make him commander-in-chief ? A man who could catch a Tiger 
and tie him to a post, must surely be more courageous and clever 
than most." 

" Very well," said the Rajah, " I will make him commander- 
in-chief." So he sent for the Chattee-maker and said to him, 



A MAX WHO SCARED AX ARMY. 193 

" In your hands I place all the power of the kingdom ; von 
must put our enemies to flight for us." 

"So be it," answered the Chattee-maker ; "but before I lead 
the whole army against the enemy, suffer me to go by myself 
and examine their position, and, if possible, find out their 
numbers and strength." 

The Rajah consented, and the Chattee-maker returned home 
to his wife, and said, — 

"They have made me commander-in-chief, which is a very 
difficult post for me to fill, because I shall have to ride at the 
head of all the army, and you know I never was on a horse in 
my life. But I have succeeded in gaining a little delay, as the 
Rajah has given me permission to go first alone and reconnoitre 
the enemy's camp. Do you therefore provide a very quiet 
pony, for you know I cannot ride, and I will start to-morrow 
morning." 

But before the Chattee-maker had started, the Rajah sent 
over to him a most magnificent charger richly caparisoned, which 
he begged he would ride when going to see the enemy's camp. 
The Chattee-maker was frightened almost out of his life, for 
the charger that the Rajah had sent him was very powerful and 
spirited, and he felt sure that even if he ever got on it, he 
should very soon tumble off; however, he did not dare to refuse 
it. for fear of offending the Rajah by not accepting his present. 
So he sent back to him a messao-e of thanks, and said to his 
wife, — 

"I cannot go on the pony, now that the Rajah has sent me 
this line horse ; but how am I ever to ride it? " 

"Oh! don't be frightened," she answered; "you've only got 
to get upon it and I will tie you firmly on, so that you cannot 
tumble off; and if you start at night, no one will see that you 
are tied on." 

" Very well," he said. So that night his wife brought the 
horse that the Rajah had sent him to the door. 

13 



194 ' ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" Indeed," said the Chattee-maker, " I can never get into 
that saddle, it is so high up." 

" You must jump," said his wife. 

So he tried to jump several times, but each time he jumped 
he tumbled down again. 

" I always forget when I am jumping," said he, " which way 
I ought to turn." 

"Your face must be toward the horse's head," she answered. 

" To be sure, of course," he cried ; and giving one great jump 
he jumped into the saddle, but with his face toward the horse's 
tail. 

" This won't do at all," said his wife, as she helped him down 
again ; " try getting on without jumping." 

" I never can remember," he continued, " when I have got my 
left foot in the stirrup, what to do with my right foot or where 
to, put it." 

" That must go in the other stirrup," she answered ; " let me 
help you." 

So, after many trials, in which he tumbled down very often, 
for the horse was fresh and did not like standing still, the 
Chattee-maker got into the saddle , but no sooner had he got 
there than he cried, " Oh, wife, wife ! tie me very firmly as 
quickly as possible, for I know I shall jump down if I can." 

Then she fetched some strong rope and tied his feet firmly 
into the stirrups, and fastened one stirrup to the other, and 
put another rope round his waist and another round his neck, 
and fastened them to the horse's body and neck and tail. 

When the horse felt all these ropes about him he could not 
imagine what queer creature had got upon his back, and he 
began rearing and kicking and prancing, and at last set off full 
gallop, as fast as he could tear, right across country. 

" Wife, wife ! " cried the Chattee-maker, " you forgot to tie 
my hands." 

" Never mind," said she ; " hold on by the mane." 



A MAN WHO SCARED AN ARMY. 197 

So he caught hold of the horse's mane as firmly as he could. 

Then away went horse, away went Chattee-maker, — away, 
away, away, over hedges, over ditches, over rivers, over plains, 
— away, away, like a flash of lightning, — now this way, now 
that, — on, on, on, gallop, gallop, gallop, — until they came in 
sight of the enemy's camp. 

The Chattee-maker did not like his ride at all ; and when he 
saw where it was leading him he liked it still less, for he 
thought the enemy would catch him and very likely kill him. 
So he determined to make one desperate effort to be free, and, 
stretching out his hand as the horse shot past a young banyan- 
tree seized hold of it with all his might, hoping that the resist- 
ance it offered might cause the ropes that tied him to break. 
But the horse was going at his utmost speed, and the soil in 
which the banyan-tree grew was loose ; so that when the 
Chattee-maker caught hold of it and gave it such a violent pull, 
it came up by the roots, and on he rode, as fast as before, with 
the tree in his hand. 

All the soldiers in the camp saw him coming, and, having 
heard that an army was to be sent against them, made sure that 
the Chattee-maker was one of the vanguard. 

" See ! " cried they ; " here comes a man of gigantic stature on 
a mighty horse. He rides at full speed across the country, tearing 
ii} > the very trees in his rage. He is one of the opposing force; 
the whole army must be close at hand. If they are such as he, 
we are all dead men." 

Then, running to their Rajah, some of them cried again, 
"Here comes the whole force of the enemy," — for the story 
had by this time become exaggerated, " they are men of gigantic 
stature, mounted on mighty horses ; as they come they tear up 
the very trees in their rage. We can oppose men, but not mon- 
sters such as these." 

These were followed by others, who said, '* It is all true," — 
for by this time the Chattee-maker had got pretty near the 



198 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

camp. " They 're coming ! they 're coming ! Let us fly ! let us 
fly ! Fly, fly for your lives ! " And the whole panic-stricken 
multitude fled from the camp (those who had seen no cause for 
alarm going because the others did, or because they did not care 
to stay by themselves), after having obliged their Rajah to write a 
letter to the one whose country he was about to invade, to say 
that he would not do so, and propose terms of peace, and to sign 
it and seal it with his seal. Scarcely had all the people fled 
from the camp, when the horse on which the Chattee-maker was, 
came galloping into it ;. and on his back rode the Chattee-maker, 
almost dead from fatigue, with the banyan-tree in his hand. 
Just as he reached the camp, the ropes by which he was tied 
broke, and he fell' to the ground. The horse stood still, too 
tired with his long run to go farther. On recovering his senses, 
the Chattee-maker found, to his surprise, that the whole camp, 
full of rich arms, clothes, and trappings, was entirely deserted. 
In the principal tent, moreover, he found a letter addressed to 
his Rajah, announcing the retreat of the invading army and 
proposing terms of peace. 

So he took the letter, and returned home with it as fast as he 
could, leading his horse all the way, for he was afraid to mount 
him again. It did not take him long to reach his house by the 
direct road, for whilst riding he had gone a more circuitous 
journey than was necessary, and he got there just at nightfall. 
His wife ran out to meet him, overjoyed at his speedy return. 
As soon as he saw her, he said, — 

" Ah, wife, since I saw you last I 've been all round the 
world, and had many wonderful and terrible adventures. But 
never mind that now ; send this letter quickly to the Rajah by 
a messenger, and send the horse also that he sent for me to ride. 
He will then see, by the horse looking so tired, what a long ride 
I 've had ; and if he is sent on beforehand, I shall not be 
obliged to ride him up to the palace door to-morrow morning, 
as I otherwise should, and that would be very tiresome, for most 



SIEGFRIED AND THE XI BELONG HEROES. 199 

likely I should tumble off/' So his wife sent the horse and the 
letter to the Rajah, and a message that her husband would be at 
the palace early next morning, as it was then late at night. 
And next day he went down there, as he had said he would ; 
and when people saw him coming, they said, " This man is as 
modest as he is brave ; after having put our enemies to flight, he 
walks quite simply to the door, instead of riding here in state, as 
another man would," — for they did not know that the Chattee- 
maker walked because he was afraid to ride. 

The Rajah came to the palace door to meet him, and paid him 
all possible honor. Terms of peace were agreed upon between 
the two countries, and the Chattee-maker was rewarded for all 
he had done by being given twice as much rank and wealth as 
he had before ; and he lived very happily all the rest of his life. 



STORY OF SIEGFRIED AND THE NIBELUNG 
HEROES. 

The early nations of Europe seem to have come but of the 
northwest of Asia. The Celts or Gauls came first ; other tribes 
followed them. These latter tribes called themselves Deutsch, 
or the peojjle. They settled between the Alps and the Baltic 
Sea. In time they came to be called Ger-men, or war-men. 
They lived in rude huts and held the lands in common. They 
were strong and brave and prosperous. 

They worshipped the great god Woden. His day of worship 
was the fourth of the week ; hence Woden's-day, or Wednesday. 

Woden was an all-wise god. Ravens carried to him the news 
from earth. His temples were stone altars on desolate heaths, 
and human sacrifices were offered to him. 

Woden had a celestial hall called Valhall, and thither he 
transported the souls of the brave ; hence the name Valhalla. 



200 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

There were supposed to be water gods in the rivers and elves 
throughout the forest. The heavens were peopled with minor 
gods, as well as the great gods, and the spirits of the unseen 
world could make themselves visible or invisible to men as they 
chose. 

Most great nations have heroes of song sung by the poets, 
like those of Homer and Virgil. The early German hero was 
Siegfried, and the song or epic that celebrates his deeds is called 
the Nibelungen Lied. Its story is as follows : — 

In the Land of Mist" there was a lovely river, where dwelt 
little people who could assume any form they wished. One of 
them was accustomed to change himself into an otter when he 
went to the river to fish. As he was fishing one day in this 
form he was caught by Loki, one of the great gods, who imme- 
diately despatched him and took off his skin. 

When his brothers Fafner and Reginn saw what had been 
done, they reproved Loki severely, and demanded of him that 
he should fill the otter's skin with gold, and give it to them as 
an atonement for his great misdeed. 

" I return the otter skin and give you the treasure you ask," 
said Loki; "but the gift shall bring you evil." 

Their father took the treasure, and Fafner murdered his 
father to secure it to himself, and then turned into a dragon or 
serpent to guard it, and to keep his brother from finding it. 

Reginn had a wonderful pupil, named Siegfried, a Samson 
among the inhabitants of the land. He was so strong that he 
could catch wild lions and hang them by the tail over the walls 
of the castle. Reginn persuaded this pupil to attack the ser- 
pent and to slay him. 

Now Siegfried could understand the songs of birds ; and the 
birds told him that Reginn intended to kill him : so he slew 
Reginn and himself possessed the treasure. 

Serpents and dragons were called worms in Old Deutsch, and 
the Germans called the town where Siegfried lived Worms. 



SIEGFRIED AND THE NIBELUNG HEROES. 



201 



Siegfried had bathed himself in the dragon's blood, and the 
bath made his skin so hard that nothing could hurt him except 
in one spot. A leaf had fallen on this spot as he was bathing. 
it was between his shoulders. 

Siegfried, like Samson, had a curious wife. His romances 
growing out of his love for this woman would fill a volume. 




THE MURDER OF SIEGFRIED. 



She had learned where his one vulnerable spot lay. But she 
was a lovely lady, and the wedded pair lived very happily 
together at Worms. 

At last a dispute arose between them and their relatives, and 
the latter sought to destroy Siegfried's life. His wife went for 
counsel to a supposed friend, but real enemy, named Hagen. 



202 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" Your husband is invulnerable," said Hagen. 

" Yes, except in one spot." 

" And you know the place ? " 

"Yes." 

"Sew a patch on his garment over it, and I shall know how 
to protect him." 

The poor wife had revealed a fatal secret. She sewed a 
patch on her husband's garment between the shoulders, and now 
thought him doubly secure. 

There was to be a great hunting-match, and Siegfried entered 
into it as a champion. He rode forth in high spirits, but on his 
back was the fatal patch. 

Hagen contrived that the wine should be left behind. 

" That," he said, " will compel the hunters to lie down on 
their breasts to drink from the streams when they become 
thirsty. Then will come my opportunity." 

He was right in his conjecture. 

Siegfried became tired and thirsty. He rode up to a stream. 
He threw himself on his breast to drink, exposing his back, on 
which was the patch, revealing the vulnerable place. 

There he was stabbed by a conspirator employed by Hagen. 

They bore the dead body of the hero down the Rhine, and 
lamented the departed champion as the barque drifted on. The 
scene has been portrayed in art and song, and has left its impress 
on the poetic associations of the river.. You will have occasion" 
to recall this story again in connection with Drachenfels. 



THE MYSTERIOUS ARCHITECT. 

In the thirteenth century — so the story goes — Archbishop 
Conrad determined to erect a cathedral that should surpass any 
Christian temple in the world. 

Who should be the architect ? 



THE MYSTERIOUS ARCHITECT. 203 

He must be a man of great genius, and his name would 
become immortal. 

There was a wonderful builder in Cologne, and the Arch- 
bishop went to him with his purpose, and asked him to attempt 
the design. 

"It must not only surpass anything in the past, but anything 
that may arise in the future.' 1 

The architect was awed in view of such a stupendous under- 
taking. 

" It will carry my name down the ages," he thought ; " I will 
sacrifice everything to success." 

He dreamed ; he fasted and prayed. 

He made sketch after sketch and plan after plan, but they 
all proved, unworthy of a temple that should be one of the 
grandest monuments of the piety of the time, and one of the 
glories of future ages. 

In his dreams an exquisite image of a temple rose dimly 
before him. When he awoke, he could vaguely recall it, but 
could not reproduce it. The ideal haunted him and yet eluded 
him. 

He became disheartened. He wandered in the fields, ab- 
sorbed in thought. The beautiful apparition of the temple 
would suddenly fill him with delight ; then it would vanish 
as if it were a mockery. 

One day he was wandering along the Rhine, absorbed in 
thought. 

"Oh," he said, "that the phantom temple would appear to 
me, and linger but for a moment, that I could grasp the 
design." 

He sat down on the shore, and began to draw a plan with a 
stick on the sand. 

" That is it," he cried with joy. 

" Yes, that is it. indeed," said a mocking voice behind him. 

He looked around, and beheld an old man. 



204 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" That is it," the stranger hissed ; " that is the Cathedral of 
Strasburg." 

He was shocked. He effaced the design on the sand. 

He began again. 

" There it is," he again exclaimed with delight. 

" Yes," chuckled the old man. " That is the Cathedral of 
Amiens." 

The architect effaced the picture on the sand, and produced 
another. 

" Metz," said the old'man. 

He made yet another effort. 

" Antwerp ! " 

" Oh, my master," said the despairing architect, " you mock 
me. Produce a design for me yourself." 

" On one condition." 

" Name it." 

" You shall give me yourself, soul and body ! " 

The affrighted architect began to say his prayers, and the old 
man suddenly disappeared. 

The next day he wandered into a forest of the Seven Moun- 
tains, still thinking of his plan. He chanced to look up the 
mountain side, when he beheld the queer old man again ; he 
was now leaning on a staff on a rocky wall. 

He lifted his staff and began to draw a picture on a rock 
behind him. The lines were of fire. 

Oh, how beautiful, how grand, how glorious, it all was ! 

Fretwork, spandrels, and steeples. It was — it was the very 
design that had haunted the poor architect, that flitted across 
his mind in dreams but left no memory. 

" Will you have my plan ? " asked the old man. 

" I will do all you ask." 

" Meet me at the city gate to-morrow at midnight." 

The architect returned to Cologne, the image of the marvel- 
lous temple glowing in his mind. 




THE MYSTERIOUS ARCHITECT. 



PETER THE WILD BOY. 207 

" I shall be immortal," he said ; " my name will never die. 
But," he added, "it is the price of my soul. No masses can 
help me, doomed, doomed forever ! " 

He told his strange story to his old nurse on his return home. 

She went to consult the priest. 

"Tell him," said the priest to the old woman, " to secure the 
design before he signs the contract. As soon as he gets the 
plan into his hand let him present to the old man, who is a 
demon, the relics of the martyrs and the sign of the cross." 

At midnight he appeared at the gate. There stood the little 
old man. 

" Here is your design," said the latter, handing him a roll of 
parchment. " Now you shall sign the bond that gives me 
yourself in payment." 

The architect grasped the plan. 

"Satan, begone!" he thundered; "in the name cf this cross, 
and of Saint Ursula, begone ! " 

l " Thou hast foiled me," said the old man, his eyes glowing in 
the darkness like tire. " But I will have my revenge. Your 
church may in time be completed, but your name shall never 
be known in the future to mankind." 



PETER THE WILD BOY. 

In the year 1725, a few years after the capture of Marie le 
Blanc, a celebrated wild girl in France, there was seen in the 
woods, some twenty-five miles from Hanover, an object in form 
like a boy, yet running on his hands and feet, and eating grass 
and moss, like a beast. 

The remarkable creature was captured, and was taken to 
Hanover by the superintendent of the House of Correction at 
Zell. It proved to be a boy evidently about thirteen years of 



208 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



age, yet possessing the habits and appetites of a mere animal. 
He was presented to King George I., at a state dinner at 
Hanover, and, the curiosity of the king being greatly excited, 
he became his patron. 




PETKR THE WILD BOY. 



Iii about a year after his capture he was taken to England, 
and exhibited to the court. While in that country he received 
the name of Peter the Wild Boy, by which ever after he was 
known. 

Marie le Blanc, after proper training, became a lively, bril- 
liant girl, and related to her friends and patrons the history of 



pet/;/; THE WILD BOY. 209 

her early life; but Peter the Wild Boy seems to have been 
mentally deficient. 

Dr. Arbuthnot, at whose house he resided for a time in his 
youth, spared no pains to teach him to talk ; but his efforts met 
with but little success. 

Peter seemed to comprehend the language and signs of beasts 
and birds far better than those of human beings, and to have 
men' sympathy with the brute creation than with mankind. 
He, however, at last was taught to articulate the name of his 
royal patron, his own name, and some other words. 

It was a long time before he became accustomed to the habits 
of civilization. He had evidently been used to sleeping on the 
boughs of trees, as a security from wild beasts, and when put 
to bed would tear the clothes, and hopping up take his naps in 
the corner of the room. 

He regarded clothing with aversion, and when fully dressed 
was as uneasy as a culprit in prison. He was, however, gen- 
erally docile, and submitted to discipline, and by degrees 
became more lit for human society. 

He was attracted by beauty, and fond of finery, and it is 
related of him that he attempted to kiss the young and dashing 
Lady Walpole, in the circle at court. The manner in which 
the lovely woman received his attentions may be fancied. 

Finding that he was incapable of education, his royal patron 
placed him in charge of a farmer, where he lived many years. 
Here he was visited by Lord Monboddo, a speculative English 
writer, who, in a metaphysical work, gives the following 
interesting account : - — 

" It was in the beginning of June, 1782, that I saw him in 
a farmhouse called Broadway, about a mile from Berkhamstead, 
kept there on a pension of thirty pounds, which the king pays. 
He is but of low stature, not exceeding five feet three inches, 
and though he must now be about seventy years of age, he has 
a fresh, healthy look. He wears his beard ; his face is not at 

14 



210 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

all ugly or disagreeable, and lie has a look that may be called 
sensible or sagacious for a savage. 

" About twenty years ago he used to elope, and once, as I 
was told, he wandered as far as Norfolk ; but of late he has 
become quite tame, and either keeps the house or saunters 
about the farm. He has been, during the last thirteen years, 
where he lives at present, and before that he was twelve years 
with another farmer, whom I saw and conversed with. 

" This farmer told me he had been put to school somewhere 
in Hertfordshire, but had only learned to articulate his own 
name, Peter, and the name of King George, both which I heard 
him pronounce very distinctly. But the woman of the house 
where he now is — for the man happened not to be home — 
told me he understood everything that was said to him con- 
cerning the common affairs of life, and I saw that he readily 
understood several things she said to him while I was present. 
Aihong other things she desired him to sing ' Nancy Dawson,' 
which he accordingly did, and another tune that she named. 
He was never mischievous, but had that gentleness of manners 
which I hold to be characteristic of our nature, at least till we 
become carnivorous, and hunters, or warriors. He feeds at 
present as the farmer and his wife do ; but, as I was told by an 
old woman who remembered to have seen him when he first 
came to Hertfordshire, which she computed to be about fifty- 
five years before, he then fed much on leaves, particularly of 
cabbage, which she saw him eat raw. He was then, as she 
thought, about fifteen years of age, walked upright, but could 
climb trees like a squirrel. At present he not only eats flesh, 
but has acquired a taste for beer, and even for spirits, of which 
he inclines to drink more than he can get. 

" The old farmer with whom he lived before he came to his 
present situation informed me that Peter had that taste before 
he came to him. He has also become very fond of fire, but has 
not acquired a liking for money ; for though he takes it he does 



PETER THE WILD BOY. 211 

not keep it, but gives it to his landlord or landlady, which I 
suppose is a lesson they have taught him. He retains so much 
of his natural instinct that he has a fore-feeling of bad weather, 
growling, and howling, and showing great disorder before it 
comes on." 

Another philosopher, who made him a visit, obtained the 
following luminous information : — 

" Who is your father ? " 

" King George." 

" What is your name ? " 

" Pe-ter." 

" What is that ? " (pointing to a dog). 

"Bow-wow." 

"What are you?" 

" Wild man." 

" Where were you found ? " 

" Hanover." 

" Who found you?" 

" King George." 

About the year 1746 he ran away, and, entering Scotland, 
was arrested as an English spy. His captors endeavored to 
force from him some terrible disclosure, but could obtain noth- 
ing, not even an answer, and it was something of a puzzle to 
them to determine exactly what they had captured. 

They at last resolved to inflict punishment upon him for his 
obstinacy, but were deterred by a lady who recognized him and 
disclosed his history. 

In his latter years he made himself useful to the farmer with 
whom he lived, but he required constant watchfulness, else he 
would make grave blunders. An amusing anecdote is told of 
his manner of working when left to himself. 

He was required, during the absence of his guardian, to fill 
a cart with compost, which he did ; but, having filled the cart 
in the usual way, and, finding himself out of employment, he 



212 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

directly shovelled the compost out again, and when the farmer 
returned the cart was empty. 

But poor Peter, with all his dulness, possessed some remark- 
able characteristics. He was very strong of arm, and wonder- 
fully swift of foot, and his senses were acute. ' His musical gifts 
were most marvellous. He would reproduce, in his humming 
way, the notes of a tune that he had heard but once, — a thing 
that might have baffled an amateur. 

He also had a lively sense of the beautiful and the sublime. 
He would stand at night gazing on the stars as though trans- 
fixed by the splendors blazing above. His whole being was 
thrilled with joy oh the approach of spring. He would sing all 
the day as the atmosphere became warm and balmy, and would 
often prolong his melodies far into the beautiful nights. 

He died aged about seventy years. 



THE OLD GERMAN DOCTOR WHO FELL ALL TO 

PIECES. 

Once upon a time there lived in the city of Vienna an old 
German doctor, descended from a once famous Dutch family 
by the name of Van Tromp. He possessed wonderful wisdom 
and skill, and had become very rich. He was a very sad man. 
He had never married, and people said that was the reason why 
he was so sad. He was often seen walking alone on the Prater, 
as the long park in Vienna is called, but never on the bright 
days of the public festivals, when nearly all of the people of 
the city throng the shadowy avenues. He was never seen at 
the opera, and seldom in any of the public places. 

In the summer he used to leave the city quietly, sail down 
the Danube, and spend a few weeks at some quiet Hungarian 
town among the hills. 



THE OLD GERMAN DOCTOR WHO FELL ALL TO PLECES. 213 



The Doctor had had a strange history. It had been his fate 
to be again and again disappointed in affairs of the heart. He 
had arranged his marriage ceremony some five times, but in 
each case a cruel disappointment befell him between the time 
of the engagement and the expected marriage. In Holland, 
h i s promised 
bride ran away 
from him with 
a fellow who 
had m u c h 
brighter eyes 
and a prettier 
nose. This 
might have 
been borne, 
for the girl 
was unworthy 
of him. He 
left Holland, 
and went to 
Berlin. Here 
his affections 
revived. He 
courted, and 
thought he 
had won, the 
heart and the 
h a nd of a 
lovely maiden; 

but on the way to the church, as they were passing a regiment 
of returning soldiers, the girl beheld an old lover, whom she 
thought was dead, and she would not go with Van Tromp any 
further, and he returned to his lodgings very disconsolate in- 
deed. He then went to Weimar, the Athens of Germany; and, 




MAID HAD CHANGED HER MINI). 



214 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



on the banks of the Ilm, his affections again revived, and he 
courted another lovely creature, who, in the city of Goethe 
and Schiller, ought to have been very true to him. She was a 

peasant girl, 
and had been 
courted by a 
very hand- 
some lad who 
was too poor 
to marry. But 
soon after she 
had given her 
promise to 
Doctor Van 
Tromp, a for- 
tune fell to 
her, and her 
mother came 
to the poor 
man one day 
to tell him 
that the maid 
had changed 
her min d. 
Then the Doc- 
tor had to re- 
sume his trav- 
els again all 
alone ; and 
this time he 
came to Lintz 
on the Danube, a town famous for its beautiful women. 

Here he made his fourth courtship. He offered his hand to 
one of the fairest of Lintz's daughters, and was accepted. One 




" THE DOCTOR EN DESHABILLE." 



THE OLD GERMAN DOCTOR WHO FELL ALL TO PIECES. 215 

day they set out for an excursion on the Danube. The boat 
started just after the lady had passed on hoard, leaving the 
Doctor behind. He was a nimble jumper, and he determined 
to make an heroic effort to reach his bride. He leaped towards 
the boat, and fell into the water. When the boat returned at 
night, the bride did not return. The Doctor had made a fright- 
ful figure in swimming ashore, and the people on the boat had 
all laughed at him. But why the bride did not return to her 
high-jumping lover was a mystery. 

He went now down the Danube to Vienna, and here he 
courted a high-bred lady, the wife of an Austrian officer who 
had been missing for years. He led this lady to the altar; but, 
just as the ceremony was about to begin, the officer appeared, 
and fell upon poor Doctor Van Tromp and wounded him so 
that he was obliged to have one arm amputated. In his efforts 
to get away he also broke his leg, and a wooden one had to be 
substituted, all of which was very unfortunate indeed. 

The Doctor was never handsome. He was too tall for a 
Dutchman, and was not fat enough for an attractive German. 
His nose was very long, and his many disappointments had 
caused his hair to fall off and his teeth to fall out, and his flesh 
to cleave very closely to his bones. But he was a man of great 
medical skill, and, after he had been in Vienna a few years, he 
was sought for by the nobility in critical cases, and he grew very 
rich. 

In one of his summer excursions among the. hills of Hungary, 
he met a lovely peasant girl who lived in a cottage with an old 
grandmother, and his oft-blighted affections again revived. The 
old lady was full of aches and pains, and she found the company 
of the Doctor most delightful ; and the young lady said she 
would do her best to try to love him for her poor old grand- 
mother's sake. 

The Doctor determined to make sure of a marriage this time. 
He had come to the conclusion that his lack of personal beauty 



216 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

had had much to do with his former misfortunes ; and, as he was 
now rich, he decided he would repair himself up, and make of 
himself an irresistibly handsome man. 

As he was a very spare man on account of his many disap- 
pointments, he provided himself with paddings and corsets, and so 
rounded out his form that he looked like an Austrian grand duke. 

As his hair was nearly gone, especially since the last attack, 
he crowned himself with an immense wig, such as appears in the 
pictures of German virtuosos. 

He procured one of the finest sets of teeth ever made in the 
Austrian capital. 

He gloved his wooden hand, and he made up for his wooden 
foot by a great gold-headed cane. As his eyes had become weak 
from the heroic treatment of his battered body in the surgical 
hospital, he purchased a pair of gold-mounted goggles. He also 
bought an immense cloak, and on the cape of this he fastened 
the 'various diplomas and medals that his study and skill had se- 
cured to him in all the various cities of his successive disap- 
pointments. 

When he went abroad now, arrayed in all these rare articles, 
he was indeed a wonder. Faces filled the windows and doors. 
The children stopped in the street, as though the grand duke 
were passing. The sadness passed away from his face ; hope 
lighted it up with smiles again, and smoothed out the wrinkles. 
What would have said his four faithless brides could they have 
seen him now ! 

He determined, as I said, to make a sure marriage this time. 
When he went to propose to the pretty and dutiful Hungarian 
maiden, he asked, — 

" Have you a lover ? " 

"No." 

" Did you ever fall in love before ? " 

" No ; I never was in love." 

" Have you been acquainted with any soldiers ? " 



THE OLD GERMAN DOCTOR WHO FELL ALL TO PIECES. -Ill 

-No." 

" You have no relations to leave you a fortune ? " 

" No." 

" Then," thought the Doctor, " I have only not to take the 
maiden away from her home before the wedding-day, so that no 
such accident as the boat and wharf unexpectedly parting happen, 
and I am sure of a modest little wife to share with me my for- 
tune and glory. I will take the bride and her grandmother to 
Vienna, and 1 will spend my last years amid the delights of a 
loving home." 

The wedding day was appointed. The house in Vienna was 
furnished. The maiden had invited the simple Hungarian peas- 
ants of her acquaintance to attend the ceremony, and receive 
her parting expressions of affection. 

So, one morning in early autumn, the Doctor, arrayed in his 
paddings, his wig, his wooden arm and leg, his dentistry, his 
goggles, his cloak, his medals, and his cane, left Vienna, ami, 
taking the boat down the Danube, landed at the little Hungarian 
town. 

It was nearly evening, and, full of blissful anticipation, he set 
out for the bride's house, taking a somewhat secluded path over 
the hills. 

Now in that country there were bears. 

As the Doctor walked over the hills, he tried to sing. How 
blessings brighten as they are about to fly! It was a pretty 
German song he began to sing: perhaps it was associated with 
his former sad experiences, — 

" How can I leave thee. 
Queen of my loving" heart, 
Dearer to me thou art 
Than aught beside." 

The sun was sinking in a sky all purple and amber, and the 
shade of night was slowly creeping over the eastern hills. 



218 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



Now, a bear on a near hill-side heard the singing, and, seeing 
a curious figure 'plodding along, stood up on its haunches to hear 
and see what must have appeared to him a prodigy. He doubt- 
less viewed the Doctor much as the boy looks upon the elephant 
when the menagerie passes. The big wig, the flying cloak, the 
heavy cane, and the echoing song evidently excited Bruin's 
curiosity ; and, when the Doctor had sailed by full of happiness, 
the bear came out of the wood into the road, and trotted along 




THE DOCTOR FOLLOWED BY THE BEAR. 



behind him. Whether 
or not he had any evil 
intent, I cannot tell ; 
perhaps he was lone- 
some, and wanted com- 
pany. 

Presently the Doc- 
tor, in the midst of the 
pretty German melody, heard the pat of feet behind him, and 
looked around. His song ceased very suddenly, or, rather, 
ended in some very wild German adjectives, of which we have 
no translation, as we have of the song. 
He lifted his cane with staring eyes. 

He flapped his great coat and all of its medals, like wings. 
Bruin appeared very much astonished. He stopped, and 
stood up again on his haunches. 
The Doctor exclaimed, — 



THE OLD GERMAN DOCTOR WHO FELL ALL TO PIECES. 219 

" The Fates are adamant ! " 
He started to run. 
He lost his gold-mounted goggles. 
Bruin ran, too, — after the Doctor. 

So the Doctor did not stop to pick up his goggles. He would 
have picked up a live coal as soon. 

His wig caught in one of the branches of the forest trees. 



BR' 'JRbH 

MS 




THE DOCTOR CHASED BY THE BEAR. 



I ASF 

The Doctor looked around, and caught another glimpse of 
Bruin, and he did not stop to recover his wig. He only said, — 

kk The Fates are brass ! " 

And while struggling up the hill, he felt his stays unlace. 

" Now I am undone ! " he exclaimed. " It seems as though 
the Fates are iron ! " 

As he reached the top of the hill, a high wind struck him. 
His teeth began to chatter, and presently dropped out, and then 



220 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

his cloak, with its medals, was lifted into the air, and went fly- 
ing to some unknown place. 

But the cottage of the bride was now in sight before him. 
Oh, place of refuge ! The bear was also in sight behind him ! 
Oh, dreadful apparition ! The bear had until now waddled 
along in an uncertain way, but he suddenly quickened his pace. 
So did the Doctor ; he flew, bounding up and down. 

The bride now came to the door, expecting to see the bride- 
groom. She saw a spectral-looking object approaching, followed 
by the bear. 

She closed and barred the door. 

" Look out, granny," she said, " and tell me what you see." 

"Bad luck, bad -luck to ye, my daughter, and bad luck to us 
all ! It is a wizard ! " 

Presently the door was shaken, filling the bride and wedding 
guests with terror. The old crone sat wringing her hands, and 
crying, " Bad luck, bad luck to us all! It is the fiend! " 

Presently a sound was heard upon the roof, then in the 
chamber, and soon a fearful-looking object, without hair or 
teeth, with only one arm, with one foot twisted around, and with 
humps all about him, descended the .stair, and exclaimed, — 

tw I have come ! " 

" Who are you ? " cried the affrighted bride. 

" I am your lover ! I have come to be married ! " 

" You have deceived me ! " said the bride. " You are not the 
man who courted me ! " 

" He has been transformed by some bad spirit ! " said the old 
woman. " Where 's your hair, and teeth, and arm, and leg, and 
other parts of your body ? " 

" I do declare," said the Doctor, " I have left myself all along 
the way, and have fallen all to pieces!'' 

" And there is not enough left of you to make a bridegroom 
for my daughter's daughter. I pray you, begone ! " 

Then the peasants accompanied the sorrowful Doctor back to 








'"you have deceived me!' said the bride." 



THE YOUNG ORGANIST: A MYSTERY. 223 

the little town on the Danube, and the next day he returned to 
Vienna, believing that Fate intended him for a single life, and 
resolving to struggle against his destiny no more. 



THE YOUNG ORGANIST: A MYSTERY. 

The towns on the Rhine are all famous for their organs, and 
proud of the eminent organists they have had in the past. Each 
town points with pride to some musical legend and history. 

The story I have to tell is associated with an ancient provin- 
cial town. 

It is now hardly more than a small town, and possesses not 
above a thousand inhabitants: but in the latter part of the last 
century it was more than ten times its present size, and its 
church, now in ruins, was then one of the most beautiful ever 
seen in that part of the country. 

This church was finished in the year 1795, and was for a long 
time the great object of curiosity for miles around. It was of 
the Gothic and Romanesque style of architecture, and was not 
only finely proportioned on the exterior, but had within a mag- 
nificence of decoration that astonished one more and more the 
longer he gazed upon it. 

The church, unlike some of the older ones standing at that 
time, had a magnificent organ. This had been paid for by a 
separate subscription, raised in small sums by the common 
people, and, having been built by skilful workmen in Bordeaux, 
was at length set up in the church amid considerable enthusiasm 
and excitement. 

But who should play this grand instrument? How should a 
competent organist be selected? 

The people were greatly interested in the matter, and dis- 
cussed it on the corner of the rues, in the brasseries or taverns ; 



224 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

and for a period of six or eight weeks you might be sure, if you 
saw more than two people talking earnestly together, that they 
were deliberating upon the choice of an organist. 

Since the people, both high and low, had so freely contributed 
for the purchase of the organ, it was thought very proper that 
they should be allowed to choose a person to play it. And, the 
decision being thus left to the multitude, the most feasible plan 
that was suggested was that all should go, on an appointed day, 
to the church, and should then listen to the playing of the 
various candidates. 

There were, in all, nearly a score of aspiring musicians in and 
near the town; and each of these, hoping for a favorable de- 
cision for himself,, gave no end of little suppers and parties, so 
that the influential ones among the townsmen fared sumptuously 
from all. 

But out of the entire number there were two between whom 
the choice really lay. These were Baptiste Lacombe and Raoul 
Tegot. 

The former of these had lived in the town only five years. 
He had come from Bruges, so he said; and although he aston- 
ished everybody by his skill, he had not been liked from the 
first. He was very reserved and parsimonious, and his eye 
never met frankly the person with whom he talked. But no 
harm was known of him, and he found in Tranteigue plenty of 
exercise for his art. 

Raoul Tegot, on the contrary, was a native of the town ; and, 
together with his young son, Frangois, was beloved by all. He 
had married one of the village maidens, and had been so incon- 
solable at her death, which occurred when Francois was a baby, 
that he never thought more of marriage, but devoted himself to 
his child and his art. 

He was certainly a very able musician, and, being so univer- 
sally liked, many people urged that a public performance be dis- 
pensed with, and that he be elected at once. But although 



THE YOUNG ORGANIST: A MYSTERY. 225 

Baptiste Lacombe was not liked his skill found many admirers; 
and, besides, it was flattering to the worthy country-folk to think 
of sitting solemnly in judgment at the great church; and so the 
proposed plan was adhered to. 

Finally, the weeks of anticipation came to an end, the ap- 
pointed day was at hand, and, according to the arrangements 
previously made, at nine o'clock in the forenoon the three great 
doors of the church were swung open, and the throng, orderly 
and even dignified, entered and tilled the edifice. 

The seats, which in French churches and cathedrals are mov- 
able, had all been taken away, and the crowd quite filled the 
whole space. All male inhabitants of the town who were over 
twenty years of age were to vote, and each, the town officials 
and the poorest artisans alike, had one ballot. 

The great and beautiful organ took up nearly the whole of 
the large gallery over the entrance, and extended up and up 
into the clear-story until it was mingled with the supports of the 
roof. 

In the organ-loft the candidates were crowded together in 
eager expectation, and the glances that passed from one to an- 
other were not the kindliest. Each of them had been allowed 
several hours, at some time during the past week, for practice 
on the instrument; and each doubtless considered himself de- 
serving of the position. 

Presently, when all was still. Monseigneur Jules Emile 
Gautier, a very learned gentleman of the town, who had been 
chosen for that purpose, ascended two steps of the stairway 
which curved up and around the richly carved pulpit, and 
announced the name of the person who was to begin. 

T should not be able to give, in detail, the progress of the 
trial: for the history of the affair is not minute enough for that. 
But suffice it to say that the last name on the list was Raoul 
Tegot. and the name immediately preceding it was thai of 
Baptiste Lacombe. 

15 



226 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

At length, in his turn, Monsieur Laeombe, his iron-gray hair 
disordered, his hands rubbing together nervously, and his eyes 
flashing — as was afterwards remarked upon — with a malicious 
fire, stepped forward and along to the organ-seat, and for a few 
moments arranged his stops. 

Then he began lightly and delicately, creeping up through 
the varied registers of the noble instrument, blending the beau- 
tiful sounds into wonderful combinations, now and then working 
in a sweet melody, and then again upward until the grand har- 
monies of the full organ rolled forth. There was something 
mysterious and awe-inspiring in the effort. It seemed to the 
people that they had never heard music before. 

The music ceased; The people came back to their prosaic 
selves again, looked in each other's faces, and said, with one 
breath, "Wonderful ! " 

Gradually they recovered their sober judgment, and then, 
mingled with the murmurs of admiration, were heard the remarks, 
" That is fine, but Raoul Tegot will make us forget it ! " " Yes, 
wait until you hear Raoul Tegot ! " 

Soon Gautier ascended the tAvo steps of the pulpit, and called 
the name of their kind, generous townsman. 

All waited breathlessly. All eyes were turned towards the 
organ-loft. The musicians there looked around and at each 
other. But poor Raoul Tegot could not be seen. 

Where was he? The people waited and wondered, but he 
did not come. Monsieur Baptiste Laeombe was greatly excited, 
and was wiping the perspiration from his heated face. " Per- 
haps he was afraid to come," he ventured to remark to a man 
near him, at the same time looking out of a window. 

Several noticed his agitation ; but they only said, " Ah, mon 
Dieu, how he did play ! No wonder that he is nervous." 

The disquiet and confusion in the nave and aisles increased. 

A messenger had been sent to look for the missing man ; but 
he could not be found. 




IT DOES NOT SOUND,' SAID THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 



THE YOUNG ORGANIST: A MYSTERY. 229 

What was to be clone? 

Finally, some friends of Monsieur Lacombe made bold to urge 
Jiis immediate election, declaring that he had far surpassed all 
competitors j and they even hinted at cowardice on the part of 
Raoul Tegot. 

This insinuation was indignantly denied by Tegot's friends, 
who were very numerous but helpless ; they knew their friend 
too well to believe him capable of such conduct. He was, they 
said, probably detained somewhere by an accident. 

But, wherever he was, he was not present; and when a vote 
was taken, hastily, by a showing of hands, Monsieur Baptiste 
Lacombe had ten times as many ballots as any other person, and, 
of course, poor Monsieur Tegot, not having competed, was not 
balloted for at all. 

The people dispersed to their homes ; some in vexation that 
their favorite had not appeared, others in a little alarm at his 
strange absence. Young Francois Tegot had not seen his father 
since early morning, and could not conjecture where he might 
be. 

The next day the missing organist did not appear, and his 
friends began to inquire and to search for him ; but they were 
wholly unsuccessful. A little boy said that he had seen him go 
into the church with Monsieur Lacombe early that morning ; 
but Monsieur Lacombe said, very distinctly and with some 
vehemence, that the missing man had left the church an hour- 
later to go to a cottage at the edge of the town, where he was 
to ofive a lesson in singnnof. 

So the affair lay wrapped in mystery. There were many sur- 
mises, but nothing definite was known. A few expressed sus- 
picion of the rival candidate ; but the suspicion was too great 
to be thrown rashly upon anybody. Thus no progress in the 
inquiry was made. A human life did not mean so much in 
those stormy days after the Revolution as formerly; and the 
mysterious disappearance, without being in the least cleared up, 



230 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

gradually faded from men's minds and passed out of their 
conversation. 

Months and years passed away, and nothing was known of 
the poor man. His son, now come to the years of manhood, 
alwaj's declared that his father would not have been absent from 
the trial willingly ; and he firmly believed that he had met with 
a violent death. More than this he would not say ; but some- 
times when he looked towards Monsieur Baptiste Lacombe, — 
still the respected organist of the church, — his eyes were 
observed to flash meaningly. 

There was to be" a grand fete in the church, and great prepa- 
ration was made.. As the organ needed repairs, it was decided 
to repair it thoroughly ; and one of the builders from Bordeaux 
was sent for. 

He was to come on Thursday; but he chanced to arrive the 
day' before, and was to begin work early the following morning. 
That night a light glimmered out of the darkness of the gallery 
of the church. 

Two days passed. The repairing of the organ went on ; but 
there was much to be .done, and it might take a week. One 
afternoon, as Francois passed through the centre of the village, 
two men came hurriedly out of the town-house, and hastened 
away towards the church. It was the organ-builder, very much 
excited, and one of the officials of the town. The young man, 
venturing on his well-known skill as an organist, followed them, 
and the three entered the building. A feAV worshippers were 
at the great altar, and the sacred edifice seemed unusually quiet 
and peaceful. 

The organ-builder seemed too agitated to answer the ques- 
tions that the town official asked him, but led the way quickly 
to the organ-loft. " Put your foot on that pedal ! " he said 
excitedly, pointing to a particular one of the scale. 

The officer was too bewildered to comply, and Francois did it 
for him. 



THE YOUNG ORGANIST: A MYSTERY. 231 

" Now try the next one !" said he. 

Franqois did so, hut no sound came, only a queer, intermit- 
tent rumhling, like a hounding and rebounding. 

"It does not sound," said the organ-builder. "Follow me 
and I will show you why." 

" It never has sounded since the great trial-day, years ago," 
muttered the young man. But lie followed on. 

They clambered up a rickety staircase, a still more rickety 
ladder, and came to a platform at a level with the top of the 
organ; and all around them, reaching up out of the dim light 
below, were the open pipes. Passing hurriedly around, on a 
narrow plank, to the hack of the organ, their agitated guide 
paused before a row of immense pedal pipes, and, without allow- 
ing his own eyes to look, he held the light that he carried for 
the others. 

Both looked down into the cavernous tube that he indicated, 
and both started back in surprise and fear. 

" It is a man's legs ! " gasped the frightened town official. 

After the first moment of surprise had passed, they began to 
get back their wits ; and the young man advised that they send 
for several strong men and lift out the pipe. 

This seemed sensible, and in a half-hour the men were at hand 
and the pipe was drawn down to the level of the organ-loft and 
laid horizontally. The workmen had been informed of the 
nature of their work, and all were under intense excitement. 
The pipe was very long, and the body was at least five feet 
from the top. One of the workmen reached in a pole having 
a hook at the end, and the next minute drew forth the dead 
body of the sinister old organist, Baptiste Lacomhe. 

There was a pause of silent horror. Nobody cared particu- 
larly for the dead man, but the manner of his death was terrible. 

" How did it happen ? " whispered one. 

"Perhaps it was suicide.'" answered another. 

They began more closely to examine the huge tube. Francois 



232 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

Tegot, who, although thus far cooler than the others, now seemed 
unable to stand, pointed to the hand of the dead man, which 
was tightly clenched, upon a small cord. One of the workmen 
approached, and with some difficulty drew out the line ; and a 
new thrill of expectation went through the silent company 
when they saw, attached to the end of the line, an old leather 
bundle covered with dust. 




FRANCOIS SEIZED IT AND OPENED IT. 



Young Tegot now seemed to master himself by a great effort, 
and, motioning the workmen back, he advanced, and, lifting 
the bag tenderly out into a more convenient position, he said 
solemnly, as if to himself, "I have long suspected something 
was wrong, and now I shall know." 

Then he examined the bag, and at length took from his pocket 
a knife and carefully cut open one side. 



THE YOUNG ORGANIST: A MYSTERY. 233 

Despite the fact that he expected the revelation that now 
came, he started back, for the opening revealed a piece of 
cloth, — a coat which even the town official could recollect to 
be the coat of the long-lost organist, Raoul Tegot, Francois's 
father. 

The young man stepped back and sank again into his seat, 
and the others, coming forward, laid the bag quite open, and 
drew forth a watch and an embroidered vest ; in a pocket of 
the coat was found a purse. " Here is an odd treasure," said 
one of the workman, holding up a locket of dull gold. 

Francois seized it and opened it. The color forsook his face 
and his eyes filled with tears. He simply said, — 

" My mother." 

The town official now whispered to the surprised organ- 
builder, -that the villanous Lacombe had killed poor Tegot on 
the morning of the trial, and had secreted the body in some 
unknown place and hidden the valuables here. Frightened 
by the fear of discovery, he had attempted to remove the treas- 
ures, had fallen into the pipe, and had thus met a horrible 
death. 

" There is nothing secret," said Francois, " but shall be 
revealed. Sin is its own detector, and its secrets cannot rest." 

The excitement among the townspeople was for many days 
even greater than it had been at the time of Tegot's disappear- 
ance, and many and bitter were the reproaches heaped upon the 
wicked organist's memory. 

Francois was immediately chosen organist, and held the posi- 
tion during his entire life. 



234 ZIGZAG STORIES. 



THE UNNERVED HUSSAR. 

A man once entered the vaults of a church by night, to rob 
a corpse of a valuable ring. In replacing the lid he nailed the 
tail of his coat to the coffin, and when he started up to leave, 
the coffin clung to him and moved towards him. 

Supposing the movement to be the work of invisible hands, 
his nervous system received such a shock that he fell in a fit, 
and was found where he fell, by the sexton, on the following 
morning. 

Now, had the fellow been honestly engaged, it is not likely 
that the blunder would have happened ; and even had it 
occurred, he doubtless would have discovered at once the 
cause. 

But very worthy people are sometimes affected by supersti- 
tious fear, and run counter to the dictates of good sense and 
sound judgment. 

A magnificent banquet was once given by a lord, in a very 
ancient castle, on the confines of Germany. Among the guests 
was an officer of hussars, distinguished for great self-possession 
and bravery. 

Many of the guests were to remain in the castle during the 
night ; and the gallant hussar was informed that one of them 
must occupy a room reputed to be haunted, and was asked if 
he had any objections to accepting the room for himself. 

He declared that he had none whatever, and thanked his host 
for the honor conferred upon him by the offer. He, however, 
expressed a wish that no trick might be played upon him, saying 
that such an act might be followed by very serious consequences, 
as he should use his pistols against whatever disturbed the 
peace of the room. 



THE I T NNE 11 1 /■: I) in r S S . I /.' 



235 



He retired after midnight, leaving his lamp burning, and, 
wearied by the festivities, soon fell asleep. He was presently 
awakened by the sound of music, and, looking about the apart- 
ment, saw at the opposite end, three phantom ladies, grotesquely 
attired, singing a mournful dirge. 

The music was artistic, rich, and soothing, and the hussar 




THE UNNERVED HUSSAR. 



listened for a time, highly entertained. The piece was one of 
unvarying sadness, and. however seductive at first, after a time 
lost its charm. 

The officer, addressing the musical damsels, remarked that 
the music had become rather monotonous, and asked them to 
change the tune. The singing. continued in the same mournful 
cadences. He became impatient, and exclaimed, — 

" Ladies, this is an impertinent trick, for the purpose of fright- 



236 ZIGZAG STORTES. 

ening me. I shall take rough means to stop it, if it gives me 
any further trouble." 

He seized his pistols in a manner that indicated his purpose. 
But the mysterious ladies remained, and the requiem went on. 

" Ladies," said the officer, " I will wait five minutes, and then 
shall fire, unless you leave the room." 

The figures remained, and the music continued. At the 
expiration of the time, the officer counted twenty in a loud, 
measured voice, and then, taking deliberate aim, discharged both 
of his pistols. 

The ladies were. unharmed, and the music was uninterrupted 
The unexpected result of his violence threw him into a state of 
high nervous excitement, and, although his courage had with- 
stood the shock of battle, it now yielded to his superstitious 
fears. His strength was prostrated, and a severe illness of some 
weeks' continuance followed. 

Had the hussar held stoutly to his own sensible philosophy, 
that he had no occasion to fear the spirits of the invisible world, 
nothing serious would have ensued. The damsels sung in 
another apartment, and their figures were made to appear in the 
room occupied by the hussar, by the effect of a mirror. The 
whole was a trick, carefully planned, to test the effect of super- 
stitious fear on one of the bravest of men. 

In no case should a person be alarmed at what he suspects to 
be supernatural. A cool investigation will show, in most cases, 
that the supposed phenomenon may be easily explained. It 
might prove a serious thing for one to be frightened by a night- 
cap on a bedpost, for a fright affects unfavorably the nervous 
system, but a nightcap on a bedpost is in itself a very harmless 
thing. 



THE FOREST BLACKSMITH. 2o7 



THE FOREST BLACKSMITH. 

When I first heard' old Ephraim, the pedler of watches, 
say, " Boys, I can tell you a story a great deal stranger than 
that, and you won't know any more when I 've got through than 
when I began," my curiosity was greatly excited. By " that," 
he referred to the old story of Goffe the regicide, and the ap- 
pearance of the so-called Angel of Deliverance at the attack on 
Hadley, Massachusetts, during the Indian War. That was old 
Ephraim's favorite story. It embraced the incidents of the 
Judge's cave, the stone cellar at Guilford, the secret chamber at 
Hadley, and the appearance and vanishing of the white stranger 
during the old battle ; no story heretofore had ever held me like 
that. 

The itinerant story-tellers, such as lived in old colony times, 
are gone, like the minstrels of the days of the old English 
ban his. A quaint class of people they were, these old New 
England story-tellers, — the pack-pedlers, the tin-pedlers, the 
tinkers, the wandering revival preachers, the buskers, and the 
fortune-tellers. The bread-cart man must be numbered among 
them; he carried the gossip of the town from house to house on 
Saturdays, usually with an old horse and red cart, and a jingle, 
jingle, jingle of bells. The old lady who earned her living by 
going visiting, and the travelling dressmaker, whose tongue was 
as pointed as her needles, belonged to the same class. 

They are all gone ; but I think that no better stories were 
ever told than those by the old-time entertainers as they sat 
before the great logs of the grand colonial fireplaces. They 
were often colored, it is true, by superstition, for the travelling 
tradesmen were a superstitious race, who feared the unseen more 
than the seen; but even the marvels of ghost-lore had a spiritual 
meaning, and illustrated goodness and peace, and the terror of 



238 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

evil, and there was the substance and philosophy of truth under- 
lying them all. 

It was the habit of most of these wandering story-tellers to 
remain over night at the farmhouses on their way. This habit 
enabled them not only to relate stories, \>x\t to collect them, and 
their best stories grew by repetition. 

My youth was spent in an old colonial house at Warren, Rhode 
Island, near Swansea, Massachusetts, in view of Mount Hope, and 
amid the scenes of the early tragedies of the Indian War. The 
Baptist and Quaker founders of Rhode Island came to these 
plantations, and the exiles from Boston during the period of per- 
secution and the witchcraft delusion. I have been a reader of 
stories for many years, but I still retain a vivid memory of the 
strong and subtle fascination of the old colonial fireside tale. 

There was an old pedler by the name of Ephraim Pool, whose 
wonder-stories I distinctly recall. He lived in Guilford, Con- 
nec'ticut, and was accustomed to wander through the Connecticut. 
River Valley in summer, and through Providence, and thence by 
Bristol Ferry to Newport, in winter. He was consequently at 
Hadley, Massachusetts, during one part of the year, and at the old 
towns of the Mount Hope lands in winter, — - two dramatic points 
in the old tragedies of the Indian War. 

He sold watches and snuff-boxes, and cleaned and repaired 
clocks. He used to be called the Clock Doctor. He was an 
habitual snuff-taker, and^used to pass the snuff-box often during 
the telling of a story. 

I can see him now. " Here I am ! " lie used to say. " Come 
to set your clock all right again. The time will come when you 
won't see old Ephraim any more. Time will go on just the 
same after old Ephraim Pool has ceased to travel; yes, time will 
go on, but I don't believe clocks will ever go on half so well 
again. Have a pinch of snuff?" 

To new listeners, the unexpected end of these customary 
introductory and very solemn words seemed very odd and comi- 



THE FOREST BLACKSMITH. 239 

cal. The snuff-box was old Ephraim's inseparable companion, 
and he punctuated with it all that he had to say. We used to 
light two candles instead of one when old Ephraim came, set a 
row of apples to roast before tin fire on the great brick hearth, 
sit down on the red settle, and ask the genial and much-travelled 
snuff-taker for stories. The story that had the greatest interest 
for us was the attack of the Indians on Hadley, Massachusetts, 
in the valley of the Connecticut, during King Philip's War, and 
the sudden appearance and disappearance of a so-called Angel of 
Deliverance. The story in its historical relations is well known. 
It fascinated Sir Walter Scott, who tells it vividly in w - Peveri] 
of the Peak." It charmed Southey also, for it is highly poetic 
and spiritual in its suggestions, and the busy singer of Grasmere 
and Windermere had planned a long poem upon it, when his 
mind failed. It is at once one of the most thrilling and remark- 
able tales of American folk-lore. I well recall how old Ephraim 
used to tell it, — he fore the great fire, with his handkerchief 
spread over his knee. 

"I am not so young as I was," he would begin; "my beard 
grows a little whiter, just a little, every year, and I set the 
clocks a little nearer the time, — - the time for all of us. (Have 
a pinch of snuff?) Yes; well, as I was saving, I shan't be 
about here many more winters, so I shall have to please you this 
time, and I like to tell that old story right here, where the In- 
dian War began. But, boys, I can tell you a story a great deal 
stranger than ///"/, and you won't know any more when I've 
got through than when I began. Rut first let me tell you the 
story of old Hadley. 

"Hadley. at the time of my story, was a little village in the 
woods. It was a Sabbath day in early fall when it all happened, 
and the people had gathered in the church. Old Nehemiah 
Solsgrace had just begun to pray, when a woman rushed into 
the church, with wild eyes and hair streaming, without bonnet 
or shawl, and shrieked, k The Indians ! the Indians ! ' just like 



240 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

that. (Have a pinch of snuff?) The prayer stopped, and all 
started up. In the silence there was heard a cry in the distance 
that would have pierced your soul. It was the war-whoop. 

" The men seized their guns, for men went armed everywhere 
that doleful year, even to church. They rushed out-doors, and 
heard another wild cry, nearer now, and more fierce and defiant. 
What should they do ? 

" In the midst of the confusion appeared a wonder such as 
had never been known in New England before. There came 
stalking into the streets — from what place no one knew, but 
many believe from another world — a tall man like one of the 
old patriarchs. No one among the defenders, so far as known, 
had ever seen him before. His garments were of skins ; he 
carried a sword which he nourished aloft (just -like this) ; his 
hair was long and gray, his beard white and flowing, and he had 
the air of a leader of armies. 

• "' He shouted, and his voice seemed to rill the village, — 
' Behold in me the Captain of Israel. Follow me.' The people 
were awe-struck, but the men followed him. Out of the town 
went the white stranger, making a semicircle around the Indian 
warriors, unseen by them, and soon appeared behind the enemy, 
to their surprise and terror. The Indians, thinking they had a 
foe both before and behind them, fled in confusion. 

" The white stranger returned to the village, followed by the 
men. ' Bring me a cup of water,' he said, ' and let us offer 
thanks for this great victory to God, who sent me to be the 
Angel of Deliverance.' 

" All knelt down. He prayed in trumpet tones ; it was a 
thanksgiving of such thrilling and lofty language as the people 
never had heard before. It ended with, ' Be still.' There was 
a deep silence, and when, one by one, they looked up, the white 
stranger was gone. (Have a pinch of snuff ? ) " 

We usually spent an hour or more in asking questions to clear 
up this remarkable recital. Uncle Ephraim then would slowly 




GOFFK. THE REGICIDE AT HADLEV. 



THE FOREST BLACKSMITH. 243 

tell us that the white stranger for many years was believed to be 
an Angel of Deliverance sent from another world ; but he really 
was Major-General Goffe. one of the judges who had condemned 
to death Charles I., and who sought refuge in America, and was 
hidden in different places, once in a cave on the top of a hill 
near New Haven, once in a stone cellar at Guilford, and finally, 
for many years, in a secret chamber in Hadley, Massachusetts, 
where he was when the Indians fell upon the place. 

" But the other story ? " we asked eagerly. 

" It was something like this, only a great deal more strange," 
he said. " There were all kinds of strange things that hap- 
pened and were expected to happen in old colony times, when 
people were fleeing from kings and parliaments and persecu- 
tions ; but this took place not more than thirty years ago. I 
never tell the story of Goffe without thinking of the other, for 
there is a likeness between the two, as you shall see. 

" I was a young man when it happened, but the scenes are all 
as vivid as daylight in my mind still. The old Mount Holyoke 
Female Seminary was a power then, under Mary Lyon, of blessed 
memory. I used to stop at several farmhouses in Holyoke. In 
one of my journeyings I was surprised to find not far from the 
village, in the woods, a new blacksmith-shop and a small 
cottage. 

l> ' Who lives there ? ' I asked of a farmer by the way. 

" ' A stranger,' said he. ' They call him the Forest Black- 
smith.' 

" Seeing my curiosity, he continued, ' Name is Ainsley. Came 
here kind o' mysterious like. People don't know much about 
him. He is n't very handy.' The last remark was meant to 
imply a lack of experience or skill in his work. 

" The shop was merely a covered frame and forge. The cot- 
tage was small, and seemed to consist of two rooms. In the 
doorway stood a woman with white hair, and a handkerchief 
crossed on her breast. Her face fixed itself on my mind like a 



244 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

picture ; I can see it now. It was a quiet face, full of trouble. 
You may not understand that, but it was so. It was a beautiful 
face, that seemed to hide a weary, sad heart. 

" The next summer, as I was coming up the valley, and trav- 
elling along the old Hol} 7 oke road, a storm overtook me one 
afternoon near the Forest Blacksmith's. The clouds darkened 
and settled down upon the mountains, and a heavy rain, min- 
gled with hail, began to fall. I hurried along to the black- 
smith's shop, found the man there, and sat down by the fireless 
forge. 

" ' YoU will allow me to rest Until the storm is over ? ' said I 
to the man, who was not at work. 

" ' Certainly, friend, certainly. You are quite welcome ; make 
yourself at home. It will all be over in an hour. Go into the 
house, if you like.' 

" The gentlemanly mildness of his tone and politeness of 
manner surprised me. It seemed strange amid such rude and 
simple belongings. I accepted his invitation, hoping to sell 
something to the woman, and went into the house. 

" The woman with white hair received me very politely, but 
cautiously. She moved back and sat down in a great arm-chair, 
the only comfortable article of furniture in the room. 

" The chair had a stuffed leather cushion. I noticed that she 
did not leave the chair during my stay, which lasted two hours. 
As I rose to go, I noticed again the heavy, stuffed leather 
cushion. 

" Another year passed, and I came to the blacksmith's shop 
again one day, just at nightfall, early in September. The 
golden-rods were blooming about the door, and flocks of birds 
were gathering for migration. The low sun blazed behind the 
reddened trees, the sunbeams gleaming here and there among 
the branches and twigs. I hailed Blacksmith Ainsley, and 
asked him if he would keep me over night. 

" ' I wish I had better accommodations,' he said. ' I like to 



THE FOREST BLACKSMITH 245 

oblige a stranger, but I am not situated now as I wish I were. 
Ask wife.' 

"I went to the door. The white-haired woman opened it 
with a questioning look, moved hack to the same arm-chair. 
sat down, and offered me a rude seat. I repeated the question 
that I had asked the blacksmith. 

" * Heaven forbid that I should not offer hospitality,' she said. 
' But we have only two rooms, this and the other, and only two 
beds, here and yonder. Could n't you go farther? It hurts me 
to say it ; I never in my life turned away a stranger when I 
could help it.' 

"'I will give }'OU little trouble,' said I. 'I am very tired, 
.hist let me lie down on the bed in the other room and (jive me 
a bit for breakfast, and I will pay you handsomely.* 

" w It is not the pay about which 1 am thinking." said she. 

" I knew that. Her eye moistened, and her lip quivered. 

••■ Well, you may stay." said she. 'It is not like me to say 
no.' She then became silent. 

"The sun set. Shadows fell across the way. The old black- 
smith came in and lighted a tallow candle. It was dry weather, 
and the blacksmith was speaking of the effects of the drought 
on the crops and cattle, when there was a sudden sound of 
horse's feet at the door. 

••-Some one come to get shod," said the blacksmith. The 
expression is not to lie taken as it runs, but it was a common 
one. 

"He opened the door. I can see him now. What a change 
came over him ! His face turned pale, and an expression passed 
over it of utter helplessness and hopelessness, as though life had 
been stricken from his soul. 

" His wife started up, and then she sank back into the chair 
again with an expression of intense anxiety and terror. 

" The stranger came stalking in without any invitation. He 
was a man with a hard, determined face. He held his whip in 
his hand, and looked around. 



246 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" ' What brings you here,' said the blacksmith. 

" ' I must pass the night here,' said the man. 4 1 have 
travelled far, and have business here. I wish you would care 
for my horse ! ' 

" ' But, stranger, I cannot accommodate you,' said the black- 
smith. ' I have but one spare room, and that we have promised 
to this man who is sitting here.' 

'•" Can you give me a bit to eat?' he asked, turning to the 
woman. She did not move. 

" k Get the stranger something,' she said to her husband. The 
man looked at her rudely. 

" ' Are you lame, that you do not rise and accommodate me 
yourself ? ' 

" The old woman made no reply. 

" ' Here, husband, you are perhaps tired ; sit down here and 
I f will wait upon the stranger.' The blacksmith sat down in the 
arm-chair. 

" ' It would be better courtesy, I 'm thinking, if you were to 
offer me that chair, tired as I am. Perhaps you do not know 
that I am an officer of the law,' said the man, brutally. 

" The woman set the table. I could see that her hands 
trembled as she handled her dishes. 

" ' Supper is ready,' said she, at last. 

"She passed to the arm-chair which her husband offered 
her. 

" ' Do you not usually have grace before meat V said he. 

" ' Yes,' said the old woman. ' Are you a godly man? ' There 
was a hopeful tone in her voice. 

" ' I want you to say grace,' said the stranger to the 
blacksmith. 

" The blacksmith rose. ' Kneel,' said the stranger, 4 and you 
too,' turning to the woman. We all knelt down. 

" The old blacksmith's voice began to offer thanks in a tremu- 
lous way, but it grew firm. Suddenly the light was blown out. 



THE FOREST BLACKSMITH. 247 

The stranger started up, and walked about heavily in the dark. 
What did it mean ? 

" ' I will get a light in a minute, ' said the old man, and then 
went on to finish the prayer, showing in this a reverent sin- 
cerity that has always been a mystery to me. At length he 
rose from his knees, and stumbled about for a light. 

" The old woman sank back into the chair. As she did so 
she uttered such a cry of distress, ending with the words, ' It 
is gone, William ; it is gone ! ' 

"'What?' 

** When the lamp was lighted, the stranger had left the room. 
The chair was there, but the cushion was gone. The woman 
wailed helplessly, ' Oh ! oh ! after all these years ! ' She knelt 
down by the chair and cried like a child. 

" ' It is all over,' said the old man. ' Don't cry ; there 's 
another world, Amy.' 

" I turned from this pitiable scene to look for my pack. It 
was where I had placed it. There were sobs from the woman, 
and intervals of silence, for an hour. I then went to bed, hav- 
ing first put my pack under the bedclothes at my feet. I was 
tired, but did not fall asleep until toward morning. 

" When I awoke, it was broad day. The sun had risen, and 
the tinged leaves of the forest were glimmering in the light, 
warm wind. How beautiful everything looked through the 
little window ! I rose, dressed, pulled my pack from the bed, 
and then went out to the other room. No one was there. The 
table still was set as on the evening before, with the food upon 
it. The great chair was there, without its cushion. There was 
no fire. 

" I opened the outer door. The shop was empty ; there was 
a dead silence everywhere, except the call of the jays in the 
walnut-trees. 

" I started toward the village, but stopped to repair a clock 
and take breakfast at a farmhouse. At the village I examined 



248 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

my pack, when another mystery appeared ; I found that my 
watches were gone. 

" I summoned a sheriff, and went back. The house was 
empty ; everything remained as I had left it in the morning. 

" The next year I came again to the place. It was deserted, 
as when I last saw it. No one knew who the occupants had 
been, or why or whither they had gone. I have asked myself a 
thousand times, What was in the leather cushion? Were the 
forest blacksmith and his old wife honest people ? Who was the 
mysterious stranger?. Why did he come? 

" You know as well as I do, boys. (Now I will have another 
pinch of snuff.) People do not vanish now as they used to do ; 
times have changed. As I told you 't would be, you don't 
know any more now than when I began." 



A ROMANCE OF NORTH CAROLINA. 

When I was a young girl, and quite wild over the " Waverley 
Novels," you can fancy my delight at my dear little grand- 
mother's looking up, with her bright brown eyes, and saying, 
" I knew her, — your beautiful Flora ! " 

" You knew her ? " 

"I have sat on her knee, and she once kissed me," said 
Grandma. 

" Then it was true about her ? " 

" In a measure," said Grandma, taking up her knitting again. 
"The idea of her was true. You might say she sat for the 
portrait. Her real name, you know, was Flora Macdonald." 

" Oh, was she like the story ? " 

" That I can't quite sajr. I was so young, I can hardly 
remember how she looked," said Grandma. " I kept only the 
sensation that she was something beautiful and grand. I heard 



.1 ROMANCE OF NORTH CAROLINA. 249 

them talking about her, and I trembled when she touched 
me." 

''Was she tall and dark and pale, with drooping curls and 
proud glances ? And did she sing about Highland heroes, and 
adore Prince Charlie ? " 

"A gentleman who was entertained by her in Scotland says 
she was a little woman, mild and well-bred. The legend of her 
in North Carolina, where she went to live, is that she was 
dignified and handsome. As for the rest of your questions, I 
rather think that at that time she talked of seasickness and the 
weather during her voyage; and if she adored anybody. I 
suppose she adored her husband." 

" Her husband? Why, Flora went into a convent ! " 

"In the story. In real life she married an officer, and went 
to live in North Carolina, as I told you before. But she stop- 
ped in Nova Scotia, either going or coming; for it was there 
she visited my uncle, good old Judge Des Champs, and there 
I sat upon her knee." 

"And what was the truth about her, Grandma?" I asked 
in woful disappointment. '••Wasn't any of the story true? 
Tell us, can't you? Tell us, please now. just how it was." 

"Well," said Grandma, "you have read about Charles 
Edward the Pretender ? " 

•• Oh, yes. of course. He is the prince in the story." 

" The prince in the story, and the prince in history. For all 
that is known of him then, I have no doubt that at that time 
he was as lovely a gentleman as the prince in the story. His 
mother was a Sobieski, you know*, — an heroic race, long de- 
scended from heroes in old Poland ; and he was one of the 
Stuarts, wdio had a way of taking all men's hearts. 

••Gallant and gentle and noble, self-forgetting, dauntless, 
beautiful, in those early days a superb fellow, people felt that 
they could die for him, — and die they did. Just think wdiat 
a career he had in his youth! In Venice he was received with 



250 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

royal honors. When France was going to invade England at 
a time when England was half unprotected, he was sent for 
to take command of the army. 

" He embarked with Marshal Saxe, the greatest soldier of his 
day; and the throne of his grandfather was just within his 
reach, when a furious tempest rose, and raged a week, and sank 
the vessels, full of troops, to the bottom, and threw him back 
upon the coast. The French would not try again ; and it was 
all his friends could do to prevent the prince from setting sail 
for Scotland alone in a fishing-boat. 

" When, after a while, he did arrive with his seven friends in 
Scotland, the clans nocked about him, and he had at first some 
splendid successes. He ' drew his sword ' and ' threw away 
the scabbard,' as he said, and prepared to invade England. 

"But at last," said Grandma, after a little pause, "there 
came an end to all his efforts in the disaster at Culloden, where 
the field was lost through the sullen pride of the Macdonalds." 

" Why, how could that be ? " 

" The Macdonalds, you know, were an immense clan ; and 
it happened that they had been placed on the left of the army, 
but they had claimed it as their right, ever since the service 
they had done at the battle of Bannockburn, that they should 
charge on the right ; and so they refused to charge at all, and 
lost the prince the day. 

" The poor chevalier ! What must his wrath and despair 
have been when he saw so great a cause ruined by so petty a 
whim? But at that, he and his adherents fled for their lives; 
for they had been defeated, and defeat made them guilty of 
high-treason, and their lives were the forfeit if they should be 
captured. 

" A hundred and fifty thousand dollars was the price set upon 
the head of the prince by the British Government. Five 
months he wandered in the wild passes of the Highlands, 
hiding in caverns, under crags, among the gorse and heather, 



A ROMANCE OF NORTH CAROLINA. 251 

slipping in ;i skiff from island to island, starving, perishing 
with cold, in rags, hunted everywhere, and every pass guarded 
by the Duke of Cumberland's troops ! 

"' It was only the love of the people, of the common people, 
which saved him. How they used to sing songs about him! 
And, a generation later, how I used to sing them myself! 

" That kiss of Flora Macdonald's made me espouse the cause 
of the Jacobites, as the supporters of the house of Stuart were 
called. ' Charlie is my darling, the }"oung Chevalier,' and 
•What's a' the steer, Kimmer?' and 'Come o'er the stream, 
Charlie,' and ' Wha '11 be king but Charlie ? ' and ' Flora Mac- 
donald's Lament,' and all the rest." 

" Well, it happened that Flora was on a visit in the neigh- 
borhood of one of his hiding-places. It was proposed, all 
other ways having failed, that the prince should put on the 
clothes of some woman, and be passed off as her waiting- 
maid, — he had already played the part of servant to Malcolm 
McLeod. 

"It was a daring undertaking, with all the scrutiny the 
British watch-dogs never dropped a minute. The officer from 
whom Flora had to obtain a passport was Flora's father-in-law. 
He had no idea what he was doing when he gave her a safe con- 
veyance for herself, her young escort, Neil Macdonald, Betty 
Bourke, a stout Irishwoman, and some others. 

" Betty Bourke was the prince ; and it must have been a 
great trial to a modest and timid young girl to carry out such 
an imposition ; but she was rewarded by the love of a 
whole people. They sailed for the Isle of Sk} T e one bright 
June day. 

" When they landed, they went to the house of the Laird of 
Sleite, which was full of hostile soldiers eager in the search for 
the royal prize ; and Flora told her secret to the kind lady of the 
house, who straightway helped her along on her way home to 
Kinofsbursr. 



252 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" And she at last saw the prince safely through ; and his last 
words to her were : ' Farewell, gentle, faithful maiden ! May 
we meet again in the Palace Royal ! " 

" Young Neil Macdonald followed him to France, and his son 
became by and by one of Napoleon's marshals. But great was 
the ano-er of the British Government when it was found that 
Charles Edward had escaped. 

" They knew the thing could only have been managed by a 
woman ; suspicion fell on Flora, and she was arrested, together 
with Malcolm McLeocl and others, carried on board of a man-of- 
war, and changed from one vessel to another, until she had been 
nearly a year on shipboard, before being taken to London and 
thrown into prison to stand a trial for high-treason. 

" How cruel for the brave, sweet girl ! But her youth, her 
beauty, her courage, began to create what you might call a reac- 
tion in her favor, especially as she had not previously been on 
the prince's side, either in respect to his claims to the throne or 
his religion. 

" The king himself — it was George II. — asked her how she 
dared save the enemy of his crown and kingdom, and she 
replied, — 

" ' I only did what I would do for your Majesty in the same 
condition, — I relieved distress.' 

" And it all ended by their sending her home with Malcolm 
McLeod. It was about four years afterward that she married 
Allan Macdonald. It seems, when your hear her story, as if half 
the people of Scotland were Macdonalds. 

" In 1775, being in some trouble for money, and hearing how 
well his country-people who had emigrated were getting along 
there, Allan Macdonald followed them to North Carolina ; and 
there he settled with his wife at Fayetteville, where the ruins of 
their house may yet be seen, I believe, unless recently removed. 
" The vast difference between the chills and mists of the 
Scotch Highlands and the balmy air in which she found herself, 



A ROMANCE OF NORTH CAROLINA. 253 

I should think must have been very striking' to Flora; she must 
have enjoyed the wonderful fruits and flowers at what seemed 
to her untimely seasons, and in the coldest months the great 
wood-tires furnished by the pitchy forests, that still seem inex- 
haustible, 1 am told. 

" They only lived a little while in Fayetteville, before they 
moved to Cameron Hill, twenty miles distant. They had no 
sooner established themselves there than the Revolution began. 
It must have seemed to Flora as if a state of rebellion and war- 
fare were the natural state of man, or as if she were fated never 
to escape it. 

"The chief of the Macdonald clan among the North Carolina 
emigrants had been given, whether through policy or not, a 
commission as general in the British king's army. The Stuart 
struggle being over and done with, there probably appeared to 
him no reason why he should not take it. He summoned all 
loyal Highlanders to meet under his standard, and march with 
him to join General Clinton. 

" They did so, fifteen hundred strong, but were met by the 
rebels against King George, — and in no State was the feeling 
that led to our independence more ardent than in North Caro- 
lina, — and Caswell and Moore routed them in a desperate fight ; 
and among those taken prisoner was Flora's husband. 

"When Captain Macdonald was at last released, his land was 
confiscated, his property gone, his hopes shattered: and he took 
his wife and shipped for Scotland. It was on the way home, in 
this British ship, that they encountered a French frigate ; and 
of course there was a sea-fight. 

" But Flora Macdonald did not go below then, and spend her 
time between screaming and praying, as some women might 
have done. She stayed on deck through the whole action, bind- 
ing up wounds, encouraging and helping, and presently she had 
her arm broken for her pains. 

"'I have hazarded my life,' she said, ' for the House of Stuart 



254 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

and for the House of Hanover ; and I do not see that I am a 
great gainer by either of them.' 

" But she was satisfied in having the French frigate beaten, 
and she reached Scotland at length in safety. She must have 
been a woman of iron nerves, I think. She had five sons, all of 
whom were soldiers. And when she died at last, her shroud 
was made of the sheets in which the Prince Charles Edward 
had slept at Kingsburg. 

" You see, if you have your story of Lady Arabella Johnson 
here, they have quite as good a one of their Flora Macdonald 
down in the old North State, which, perhaps you may not know, 
claims to be the first of the thirteen on whose shores the English 
landed, and the first in which the old colonists threw off the 
British yoke." 



THE INDIAN PROPHET. 

A TALE OF ALABAMA. 

" ECONOCHACA ! " 

The name looks strange. Its history is more strange than the 
name. I have found in American history no events more weird 
and remarkable than those associated with this place. 

It was a city of refuge, modelled after the Israelitish cities in 
form and government. It was a hidden city, and was built 
upon the left bank of the Alabama, in what is now Lowndes 
County. No path or trail led to it. The Indian who reached 
it, whatever may have been his danger, was safe. It was holy 
ground. 

It was built by Weathersford, an Indian warrior, who was at 
one time the idol of his race. Tall, straight, and kingly, with 
dark eyes and electric glance, he seemed born to command. He 
was a savage, yet he possessed the heroic virtues of a Spartan, 



THE INDIAN PROPHET. 255 

and ;t martyr's spirit that would have been noble in the early 
( 'hristians. 

When this wonderful man had built his hidden city, he pre- 
pared to dedicate it. 

There lived among the Shawnees a brother of the great Te- 
cumtha, who claimed to be a prophet. 

His birth was wonderful. He was one of three children born 
of the same mother at the same time, and regarded with awe 
from their natal day. 

One day in his early years, he fell upon the ground as one 
dead. His body was borne away for burial. As the Indians 
were preparing for the last rites, he suddenly started up. 

" I have seen the Land of the Blessed," he exclaimed. " Call 
the people together that I may tell them what I have seen." 

The nation was called to assemble. He rose up before them, 
told them of his celestial visions, and virtually announced him- 
self to be a prophet. 

He was believed to have performed miracles. Corn as big as 
meal-bags sprung from the earth at his bidding, and pumpkins 
as large as wigwams came into the maize-fields at his call. 

His appearance at a council of the Creeks just before that 
nation declared Avar was terrible and awful. 

"You shall see," he said, "-the arm of Tecumtha, like a white 
fire, stretched forth in the sky." 

A comet soon after appeared, and the Creeks believed it to be 
the spirit arm of their chief, pointing them to war. 

" You do not believe that the Great Spirit has sent me forth," 
he said to a sceptical warrior. "You shall believe it. I go to 
Detroit. When I arrive there, I will stamp my foot upon the 
ground. You shall hear it in Alabama. When I stamp my 
foot, your houses shall fall." 

The Prophet went to Detroit. Strangely enough, at the time 
of his arrival, an earthquake shook Alabama, and the houses 
were seen to totter and reel to and fro. 



'256 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" Tecumtha lias arrived in Detroit ! Tecumtha has arrived 
in Detroit ! " said the affrighted Creeks. 

The Prophet might have learned from the English the near 
approach of the comet, but that the earthquake should have ful- 
filled his prediction is one of the most curious and mysterious 
events of Indian history. 

Weathersford sent for the Prophet to dedicate the hidden city 
of refuge. 

It was summer. The blue Alabama rolled quietly along 
under the shadows of the green forests. In the open square of 
the Holy City smoked an altar, or altars ; and the Prophet stood 
by them, dressed in royal attire, and offered up human sacrifices 
to the heavens. 

What a scene it must have been when the fires died, and the 
moon arose, and feathery beings formed rings and danced to the 
barbarous music of their primitive instruments ! 

'From these awful rites Weathersford prepared to go forth like 
a firebrand and exterminate the whites. He was surprised by 
the latter and defeated, but himself escaped alive. 

One day at sunset there appeared at the American camp an 
Indian. He folded his arms in the presence of General Jackson, 
and said, — 

"I. am Weathersford. I have nothing to request for myself. 
Kill me if you wish. I have come to beg of you to rescue the 
Indian women and children who are now starving in the woods. 
Your people have driven them to the woods without an ear of 
corn. I have come to ask peace for my people, but not for 
myself." 

Jackson was astonished at such Roman heroism. 

k * I am a soldier," continued the chief ; " I have fought, and 
would fight now, but my people are gone. Once I could animate 
my warriors to battle, but I cannot animate the dead." 

General Jackson could not order the execution of such a man, 
but set him free. 



AN OLD WASHINGTON GHOST STORY. 2f>7 

Weathersford became a respected citizen of Alabama. He 
married; and one of the generals with whom lie had contended, 
Samuel Dale, acted as groomsman at his wedding. 

What became of the Prophet? 

He had so great faith in his powers that he at last announced 
that he would render the Creek warriors invulnerable. He 
assembled them, and went through fantastic incantations, and 
declared that no power on earth could harm them. Believing 
this, the Creeks went forth to battle. 

One by one the invulnerable warriors exposed themselves to 
the enemy. One by one they fell. The}- thought that they 
had been changed into gods, but found that they were but men. 

The Prophet became distrusted. His supernatural power 
over the Creeks diminished ; and he at last fell in battle in Can- 
ada on the Thames, showing that he, like the others, could be 
wounded, and suffer death like a common man. 

His history is worthy of a novel, a poem, or an opera. 
Among the dark mysteries of the past there is no dusky figure 
at once so inexplicable and poetic as that of the Prophet. 



AN OLD WASHINGTON GHOST STORY. 

One keen December day, a few years after the war, I arrived 
in Washington to spend a few weeks with a friend who was 
making his home at this old Van Ness mansion, near the White 
House, and adjoining the grounds where the Washington Mon- 
ument now stands. The mansion is almost a ruin now, and its 
beautiful grounds are broken and faded, but it was in its glory 
then, with its quaint porticos, its halls and gardens and beauti- 
ful trees. 

In the same yard with the fine house, which had been associ- 
ated with the best social life of many administrations, stood the 

17 



258 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

so-called Marcia Burns's cottage, in which Sir Thomas Moore was 
entertained in Jefferson's days, on the occasion of his unhappy 
visit to Washington. In this cottage lived Davie Burns, the 
stubborn Scotchman whom General Washington compelled to 
sell his plantation for the site of the city. 

" Your position," said Davie Burns to Washington, " makes 
you feel that all is grist that comes into your hopper. Who 
would you have been, I should like to know, if you had n't 'a' 
married the Widow Custis ? " 

I had loved the songs of Tom Moore in my boyhood. My 
mother used to sing them. The " Last Rose of Summer," the 
" Vale of Avoca," " The Harp that once through Tara's Halls," 
came ringing back in memory ; and after an hour with my friend 
in the Van Ness hall, I went out into the yard, and sat down on 
one of the benches, and looked at the little gray cottage where 
the famous author of " Lallah Rookh " and the " Loves of the 
Angels " had been entertained when the city was new. 

An old negress came sauntering by. With my Northern free- 
dom I said to her, — 

" Auntie, this all seems to me a place of mysteries ! " 

" A place of mysteries, dat is wot it is, Massa Nof, — dat am 
wot it is. Dat am de suller [cellar] whar dey was goin' to prison 
Linkem [Lincoln] in de las' days ob de war. Wot you think 
of dat, Massa Nof ? De 'spirators did n't intend on killin' him 
at first ; dey had planned to 'duct him, an' jus' hide him in dat 
dar suller. An' den a still boat was to come ober de ribber, like 
de white hosses, wicl still oars, movin' up an' down so still, an' 
dey were to steal him away, an' hold him for a ransom. Dat 
story sort o' haunts dat suller yet. It nebber happened, but de 
ghost of it all am dar jus' de same. 

" Dar be some ghosts dat nebber happened, Massa Nof. De 
white hosses ain't de only ghosts that come round here o' nights. 
Marcia Burns, she come on summer nights, when de roses all 
hang in de dews in de thin light ob de moon, an' de mockin' 
bird am singin' his las' song. 



AN OLD WASHINGTON GHOST STORY. 259 

"De white bosses, dey conic on Christmas nights, — six while 
hosses on seven Christmas nights, — Massa Nof, widout any 
heads on dem an' dar necks all smokin'. It may be you "11 stay 
ober Christmas time, Massa Nof, an' see 'em wid your own eyes." 

Of what was this old negress talking-? Her eyes dilated as 
she spoke of the six white "hosses," 1 and she raised her arm 
and looked like a seeress. 

" What are the six white horses ? " I asked. " I never heard 
of them before." 

" You didn't! Now dat am strange! 1 must call yon Massa 
Up-Nof. Eberybody knows about 'em here. Dey am ghosts, — 
jus 7 ghosts. Dey are de ghosts ob de six white hosses dat all 
dropped right down dead wid broken hearts on de night dat 
Marcia Burns, as dey call Mrs. Van Ness, gabe up her soul to 
de angels. Dat am wot dey am." 

My friend came out of the house. The old negress heard the 
door elose, and gave her head a toss, and with an air of mystery 
moved away. 

" It is rather cool for you to be sitting here," my friend said. 
" You need your overcoat. We have kindled the fires." 

"Dwight," said I, "what is it the old negress has been tell- 
ing me about six white horses ? — one of the oddest things 1 
ever heard." 

" Oh, nonsense, Herbert. An old Christmas tale ; the negroes 
believe it yet. I am going to the station; will be back soon. 
You had better go in. There 's a chill in the air." 

He passed out of the gate. 

I did not go in. The ancient place seemed to throw over me 
a spell. I had heard that the early Presidents used to be enter- 
tained here ; that Marcia Burns Van Ness was a kind of Wash- 
ington saint ; that she founded the orphan asylum, and that the 
government stopped on the day that she was buried. 

"The government stopped," I said to myself, absently, "but 
did the six white horses really fall down dead?" 



260 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" Dat dey did." 

The words seemed to come out of the air. I looked up, and 
the old negress again stood before me. She was on her way to 
some place outside the gate. 

"An' Massa Up-Nof, jus' you let me tell you somethin' : De 
white hosses am a mystery, but dar am a mystery oh de mystery. 
I '11 tell you some day, I will." 

She passed out of the gate. The sun was setting ; the last 
breeze seemed to die, and I sat in the silence trying to picture 
to myself the past of this most wonderful place. 

D wight refused to talk to me about the six white horses. I 
went to Fortress Monroe to spend a week or two, and while 
there I wrote to a- lady in Georgetown, who well knew the his- 
tory of the Van Ness place, and asked her about the legend of 
the six white horses. The return letter intensely interested 
me. It was as follows : — 

Georgetown, December '20. 

Dear Herbert, — Scrapbooks, old notes, a few letters from friends 
living near Seventeenth Street in Washington, bring to me about 
the same data you seem to possess. 

The "headless horses " number "six," because General Van Ness 
drove to his best coach six, when guests were many and distinguished. 
He died at the age of seventy-six. He married the beautiful Marcia 
Burns when he was thirty ; he was then a New York member of 
Congi'ess. During all those years he gave annually a large, gay, 
fashionable entertainment to all of Congress, during the holidays. 
They were the Christmas events of society. 

On the anniversary of that event, the six headless horses are said 
to appear " to this day " ! They are seen at twelve o'clock at 
night, any or all nights during Christmas week. (You know, in the 
South, the Christmas revelry lasts all the week.) An old lady of 
eighty tells me, " The horses do gallop round and round the mansion 
in Mansion Square, and sometimes stop right in front of the old 
pillars of the porch and rock to and fro and moan and sigh. They 



^.V OLD WASHINGTON GHOST STORY. 2bl 

are white as snow, with smoke and mist and white flame, like burn- 
ing brandy, going upward from their shoulders." 

They stop in their midnight gallops and listen at the door for the 
old voices of George Washington, Hamilton, Clay, Jefferson, the 
Taylors, and hundreds of distinguished men of that time. They 
come over the river, as most of the men are buried there. The 
unseen spirits of the great dead hover about the grounds, and make 
the aspen-trees shiver, the willows moan, as the horses dash past. 

Old Mr. Van Ness comes with his own horses, and it is his spirit 
appearing in them. 

Tom Moore spent one week there, and comes generally at Christ- 
mas time, his voice repeating verses composed for the beautiful 
Marcia Van Ness, and as repeated at one entertainment to her, is 
still heard as the clock strikes twelve. 

One old man says, " Dey los' dere heads [the horses] when ole 
niassa was put in de big, gran' mos-lem! " (The mausoleum now 
stands in Oak Hill Cemetery. We see it often.) " An' dey lay in 
de dus' ; an' Avhen dey was seen nex' day, smoke was dere heads, 
like o^to de day ob jedgment." 

Another theory says : " The six beautiful, fiery horses died of 
grief, and were buried on the place. A rise in the Potomac River 
washed them far away. The next Christmas they returned ' like 
death on the pale horse,' in bodily form, with cloudy heads, and the 
general's eyes flashing through the smoke and flames. Sometimes 
the very faces of the guests appeared plainly." 

Montgomery Blair used to say that the six headless horses did 
appear to the servants annually, and that his own slaves had re- 
peated to him their stories " until he himself believed them." 

The lonely Taylor family of " The Octagon House," whose collec- 
tion of curios are now in the Corcoran building, told funny stories 
of the " ghosts," credited up to the eighties : — 

" Six headless horses gallop round the old house and grounds 
annually ; always white and large, and with heads of fire. The 
servants run, and more courageous, intelligent persons spend the 
night trying to hold the horses. They fly past them, and dissolre 
before their eyes ! A noise of rushing wind and voices in the dis- 
tance, a splash in the water, and all is still." 



262 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

One note of 1885 says : " The headless horses are, of course, a 
myth, but few of the neighbors care to pass a night in the place, 
near Christmas time. We have hidden behind the brick wall, but 
found it a ghostly spot." 

The story had grown with the letter, and my imagination 
grew. The incidents of the smoking necks of the horses, of 
Tom Moore's songs at Christmas at the midnight horn*, of the 
terrified servants, and the dissolving spectres, all fixed them- 
selves on my mind, -and haunted 1113' sleeping and waking 
dreams. On the 24th of December I returned to Washington, 
to pass the holidays with my friends at the old Van Ness house. 

As I passed the gate into the great garden, I met the old 
negress again. 

" De land ! am you come back ? Don't you be frightened 
now ; you listen right now to wot 3^0' Auntie Wisdom's gwine 
td sa3 r . Dar am a mystery ob de nrvstery. I 'se found it out, I 
dun has. 

" ' Dem beliebs dat dar are witches, 
Dar de witches are ; 
Dos dat tint dar ain't no witches, 
Dar ain't no witches dar.' 

Now, Massa Up-Nof, don' 3^ou be 'fraicl. I '11 tell you somethin' 
befo' you go. Dar 's got to be a mental mind to see dem tings ; 
de 'maginations got to hab eyes ; you 'member now wot yo' 
Auntie Wisdom says, an' don' you get scared at acting dey 
tells you. Dar '11 be libely times about midnight. Glad to see 
3 r e. But I mus' hurry on ; wot Massa Blair, he say, if he heard 
me talkin' dis way wid a gent'man from up Nof ! No account 
nigger like me. But I 'se 3 7 er true frien', I 'se am ! I likes 
peoples wot live up Nof ! " 

It was a beautiful night. The Capitol seemed to stand in the 
air like a mountain of marble, and when the moon rose and il- 



AN OLD WASHINGTON GHOST STORY. iM-5 

lumined the grand porticos of the nation's halls, the air, as i( 
were, became enchanted, as 11* it held a celestial palace of light. 
The Capitol by moonlight is one of the most beautiful scenes on 
earth. It rivals the visions of the Taj, and impresses the imagi- 
nation as the very genius of American destiny. 

There was a gay party in the old house on that Christmas 
eve. Amid the social entertainments I once or twice heard an 
allusion to the "six white horses," as though the legend were 
merely a joke. The guests departed by eleven o'clock, and a 
half hour later I found myself in the guest-chamber, looking out 
of the window on Marcia Burns's cottage, the evergreens, and 
the Potomac. The house became still, but sounds of merriment 
from time to time broke on the air from the negro quarters. I 
wondered where Auntie Wisdom might be, and, but for the im- 
pn tpriety, I would have been glad to talk with her as the critical 
hour of twelve drew nigh. 

A shriek rent the air at this point of my mental recitation. It 
came from the negro quarters. The yard was soon rilled with 
coloured servants, and among them was Aunt Chloe, the woman 
of wisdom. 

"Comin', comin', comin', on de wings ob <le wind!" the old 
negress began to exclaim in a wild, high, gypsyish tone, bowing 
backwards and forwards and waving her hands in a circle. The 
negroes around her seemed beside themselves with terror. 

What was coming ? 

I looked out on the Potomac over the motionless trees. On 
the margin of the river was rising a thin white mist, which 
formed itself into fantastic shapes as it rolled along and broke 
over the marshes in the viewless currents of the air. One of 
these mist forms began to condense, and drift toward the gardens 
of the house. 

" Comin', comin', on de winds ! The Revelations am comin', 
an' wot's gwine to sabe us now?" 

I opened the window. The clocks were striking twelve in the 
church towers. 



264 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" The Powers above sabe us ! " shrieked Aunt Chloe. "-Fall 
upon yo' knees. The dead are upon ye all. You that has href, 
rend de skies ! " 

" Jerusalem and Jericho \ " cried a negro who was called 
Deacon Ned. He seemed to think that in the union of these 
two words was a prophylactic virtue, and repeated them over 
and over again. Then a cry went up, which might have reached 
the skies, had the celestial scenery been as near as it appeared 
on- that still December morning. Deacon Ned followed the 
piercing cry with the startling declaration : — 

" De yarth am comin' up an' de hebens am comin' down ! " 

With this thrilling announcement in my ears, I left my room, 
and went down into the hall, and out into the air. A Christmas 
carol from the chimes of some unknown tower was floating 
through the sky like an angel's song. 

Aunt Chloe, the woman of occult wisdom, rose up when she 
saw me. 

" Oh, Massa Up-Nof, dey is comin' ! Wot you say now ? " 

"Where?" 

" Dere — don' ye see 'em ? Clar as de mornin' J Hain't ye 
got de clar vision ? " 

She pointed wildly to one of the forms of the night mist, and 
stood with one arm raised and white-orbed eyes. 

" Don' ye see dat white hoss dar, widout any head, an' 
smokin' ? An don' ye see dem five white bosses dat am hem' 
created behind him ? " 

Then she pointed again toward the marshes, and I saw them. 

There, as plainly as I ever saw anything, was a white horse 
without a head, his neck smoking. Behind him were five other 
white horses rising from the marshes. 

" You see, now ? " 

"Yes." 

" You hab de clar vision ? Wot did I tell ye ! " 

"I see." 



THREE BALLS OE YARN. 265 

" You can't discern dese tings widout de seein' eye. Wot 
did I tell ye ! " 

The forms rolled over the marshes, and through the outward 
shrubbery of the gardens, and disappeared, dissolving as they 
approached the higher part of the city. The negroes stood like 
statues. 

" It has passed by," said Deacon Ned. " Bress de Laud ! " 

" Aunt Chloe," said I, "you said there was a mystery of the 
mystery. What is it? I must know." 

She heaved a deep sigh, but as of relief, and then said, slowly, 
" Massa Up-Nof, nobody sees 'em as bosses until dey are told 
dat dey he horses. Den dey hab de seein' eye. Do ye see ? " 

" I see." I did, indeed. 

" Dey was bosses, warn't dey now, Massa Up-Nof?" 

" Yes, Aunt Chloe, I saw them as plainly as I saw the 
President's horses on Inauguration Day." 

The negroes disappeared in the shadows. 

I slept serenely, and when I awoke, all the Christmas bells 
were ringing. There was a mystery of the mystery, and that 
key will unlock many doors. 

But I shall never forget the impressions made upon my mind 
that night at the old Van Ness house ; and wherever Christmas 
may find me, that haunting memory will always return again. 
No American Christmas story ever made such a vivid impres- 
sion upon me, or left in my mind so many suggestive lessons. 
And the story is substantially true. 



THREE BALLS OF YARN. 
Buz-z-z-z. 

" ' My wheel goes round ; my hopes are dead ; 
And wild blows the wind over Marblehead.' " 

It was the spinning-wheel of Dame Guppy, of Marblehead. 
Steadily it had been going for three days. 



266 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" What can it mean ? " said Mary Glover. " Oh, I get so 
tired of the sound of it! " 

The girl opened the door of Dame Guppy's room. The 
wheel was flying like the foam around the rocks of Marblehead, 
and making a noise like the March winds against the cliffs. 
Dame Guppy was singing to her wheel. Pretty Mary Glover 
knew the song well! It was the old sea rune of the New 
Scotland sailors. 

" Mary, are you here ? " said the tall spinster. 

" Yes, Aunt Roxana. What makes you spin so, and look so, 
and sing so ? " 

" Why do I spin so ? Because I 've had a letter from your 
father, — a war letter. The soldiers' feet are freezing in the 
snow. Go away now. I can't spend time in talking. 

" ' My wheel goes round ; my hopes are dead ; 
And wild blows the wind over Marblehead. 
My wheel goes round.'" 

Who was Mary Glover? 

She was the daughter of General John Glover, and lived in 
a house which may be standing to-day on Glover Square, 
Marblehead. 

John Glover was at the Falls of the DelaAvare, with his 
famous marine regiment. He was the friend of Washington, 
and is known in history as the hero of Trenton. His muffled 
oars twice saved the American army, — once on Long Island, 
and again when they beat the frozen waters of the Delaware 
on that dark Christmas night about which every school-boy 
knows. It was John Glover who executed Major Andre, and 
wept while his stern men performed the tragedy. One may 
see his bronze statue on Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, " The 
Minute-man of Marblehead." 

A rugged little man he was, with a brave, warm heart, but 



THREE BALLS OF YARN. 267 

with a tongue that spoke roughly and plainly at all times, even 
to Washington himself, and often when his friends wished that 
it could be silenced. He used rough adjectives too, when 
excited, this warm-hearted and fearless General John Glover. 
The tender heart and fearless tongue he had inherited from old 
Jonathan Glover, his father, the intrepid benefactor of the 
wind-haunted seaport town. 

John Glover, the general, or the "Minute-man of Marble- 
head," as he was called, had a maiden relative called Dame 
Roxana, or Aunt Roxana, who was said to be " a little touched 
in mind.'" It was this lady whose spinning-wheel had been 
going three days. She was a very benevolent woman, and 
usually very cheerful, but lately she had grown grave and sad, 
and with this change had come the spinning. 

There was a lull in the sound of the wheel. The rolls of 
wool were spent. During the two following days, Roxana 
Guppy was busy in her room, and a few days after this period 
of stillness an odd event happened in the domestic history of 
the truth-speaking Glover family. It was this : — 

Dame Roxana went into the room where the family were 
sitting one Saturday evening, with something folded in her 
oldtime apron. What could it be ? Not a spring lamb, for it 
was winter ; she had sometimes folded weak spring: lambs in 
her apron in this way. Not goslings, although she had some- 
times mothered goslings in this way also. Not treasure; the 
mysterious commodity was too large for that, although Dame 
Roxana was said to be " well off " by the good fisher people of 
the town : " Well off, a little touched in mind, but not crazy." 

The family at this time consisted of six children, and Mary 
Rawson, — an attractive girl whose parents were dead, and who 
had been appointed a home by the selectmen in the leading 
family of the town. Mary Glover and Mary Rawson had be- 
come warm friends, and both had a strong feeling of affection 
for stately Dame Roxana Guppy. 



268 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

"There," said Dame Roxana, "I am going to give these two 
girls presents that ought to make them happy." 

She stood tall and thin in the light of the dipped candle, 
holding up her apron. Her cap border rose high above her 
forehead, and its two " strings " fell back over her shoulders. 
There was a forced smile on her face, and an unusual bright- 
ness in her black eyes. The two Marys were rilled with curi- 
osity. They did not dare to ask what the presents were, but 
waited for what she had to say. 

" If you do good and make others happy," continued Dame 
Roxana, " you will be happy yourself." 

" Yes," answered the girls. 

They had heard Aunt Roxana repeat this trite truth many 
times, and it did not interest them. They were eager for what 
was to follow. 

"' That is the way to find the key to happiness," she con- 
tinued. " We gain in this world by giving, and selfishness 
shuts the door of life. 

" ' This ae night, this ae night, 
Every night and a'.' " 

She looked sharply at Mary Glover and then at Mary 
Rawson. 

" Yes, I think you realize it ; " and then a kindly look came 
into her troubled face. " Now, girls, see what I have in my 
apron; here are three balls of yarn." 

The girls looked into the slowly opened apron and saw three 
great balls. 

" How large they are ! " said Mary Glover. 

" Such great balls ! " responded Mary Rawson. 

" It would take a long time to knit that ball," said Mary 
Glover. 

" Yes," said Aunt Roxana, " the balls are large." Her face 
lighted up like her old self ; then she gave her cap border an 
energetic bob as she continued : — 



THREE BALLS OF YARN. 269 

"Here, Mary Glover, I am going to give you this ball to 
knit for the army. When you have knit all of the yarn on it, 
I think you will find one of the keys of happiness. At any 
rate you will have the pleasant consciousness of having helped 
those who are suffering. I have had a letter from the army 
on the Delaware. I cannot tell you what is in it ; hut the men 
need stockings." 

"Thank you," said Mary Glover. 

" And here, Mary Rawson, is a hall for you. Knit the yarn 
on it in the same way, and for the same reason, and maybe by 
it you will find one of the keys of happiness too." 

"Thank you," said Mary Rawson. 

"Now, this third ball I have spun for you," said the Dame 
to Mrs. Glover. " Knit it for .John Glover, true man that he 
is. He will need stockings soon. Now, ffood-night all." 

Straight as an arrow, with her cap border bobbing like a 
plume. Dame Guppy moved out of the room. The whole 
family looked at one another, then the boys began to laugh, 
for pretty Mary Rawson's face had assumed an expression of 
disappointment and chagrin. 

"A generous gift," said she, tossing up the immense ball. 
" I am to knit all this for nothing. The pleasure of doing good 
is to find me one of the keys to happiness, is it? If anybody 
should undertake to knit all the yarn in such a ball as that, and 
live through it, I should think she would be happy. I should 
be, I know. Dame Guppy always was queer, and this is 
queerer than ever." 

The two girls went to their own room, taking with them the 
two balls of yarn. 

"What are you going to do with yours?" asked Mary 
Rawson, when they were by themselves. 

" Knit it, of course. It will help the soldiers, for they are 
suffering. I 've no doubt that Aunt has heard more than she 
has told us. She has worked hard to card the wool and spin 



270 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

the yarn ; besides, she has always been good and kind to me. 
I would n't hurt her feelings for the world, and I know there 
is much need of the stockings in the army. Shall you knit 
yours ? " 

"Yes, I '11 knit one pair of stockings and then, — do you 
know what I '11 do ? I '11 heave it. So you see I '11 get rid of 
the work, get a beau, and get my ball of yarn back besides." 

There was an odd custom in Marblehead at this time. It 
was the " heaving " of a ball of yarn by fishermen's daughters. 
Any such custom could not find a place in the social life of 
to-day, but it was not considered improper then. When a 
fisherman's daughter was pleased with one of the young men 
of the toAvn whom she would wed, she tossed a ball to him, 
sometimes on the street and sometimes out of the window as 
he was passing the house. This was commonly done on early 
evenings, on holidays, and especially on training days. 

If he picked up the ball and returned to her with it, the two 
were likely to become engaged to be married, and the wedding 
that followed often lasted a week. If he did not return the 
ball of yarn, no discredit was attached to either party ; but the 
girl was sometimes laughed at and often carried a heavy heart. 

The custom was much like that of Saint Valentine's day, only 
more serious, — a rude thing, indeed, according to the ideas of 
propriety to-day, — but not held to be so then in the little pro- 
vincial town. To heave a ball of yarn was to invite a young 
man's attention with an honorable intent, and no more evil 
came of this odd custom than any more modern and discreet 
way of expressing sentiment. Throwing a ball became at last 
a kind of provincial play. 

Mary Glover's needles flew, and a bundle of stockings for 
her brave husband were soon knit. Her daughter's needles 
also plied as rapidly. Mary Rawson knit one pair of stockings, 
and then she said to her young friend, — 

" That 's all the knitting T shall do ; as to the rest, I '11 toss 



THREE HALLS OF YARN. 'Ill 

it to Prince Fortunate, when he conies galloping along, and 
time will unriddle all the rest." 

One bleak December day, when the sky was steel, and the 
keen winds blew the sea-gulls hither and thither, and churned 
the tides around the wave-eaten rocks, there rode into Marble- 
head a handsome courier, with a military cap and sash. No one 
in the village knew why he came, but those who saw him sup- 
posed that he had been sent from the American army. He 
sought the selectmen, and at evening mounted Ins horse again, 
to ride away. The red sunset was glimmering over the dark 
sea amid billowy clouds. The long moan of the beaches was 
heard on every hand. There were faces at the windows in 
the zicjzao- lanes. 

As the officer passed the house of General Glover, he looked 
toward the window as if he would like to stop, but instead 
rode slowly on. Before lie had fully passed the house, a window 
was thrown open ; a beautiful young face appeared, and a large 
ball of yarn was thrown after the rider. Then the window was 
closed, the bright face disappeared, and a green curtain was 
dropped. The officer stopped, dismounted, picked up the ball, 
and rode away. 

Several eyes in the gabled houses that stood at irregular 
angles about the roads had seen this incident, and knew what 
hand had thrown the ball. The throwing of a ball to a, stranger 
did not belong properly to the allowed provincialisms, and it 
was criticised as bold and unmaidenly even then. The news of 
it flew through the town, and excited curiosity as to what would 
be the result. 

" I have thrown my ball of yarn," said Mary Rawson to Mary 
Glover that night. 

ki To whom ?" 

" To the young officer who came to town to-day." 

" But 1 'm sure you do not know what you have thrown 
away." 



272 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" What do you mean ? Not my good name ? " 

" I hope not ; but I found something in the middle of my ball 
of yarn, and so did mother in hers. I am sure there was some- 
thing in yours." 

" Why did n't you tell me ? " asked Mary Rawson, excitedly. 

" We have but just found the articles inside the balls, after 
the yarn had been all used in knitting stockings." 

" Articles ! What were they ? " 

" A gold chain and a key was in mine. There was a purse in 
Mother's and some poetry." 

Mary heard with large eyes. 

"And — " 

"What?" 

" Dame Roxana said that the key would fit a certain box in 
her room, and that I might open the box on my wedding day, 
and have all I found in it." 

" Oh, I wonder what was in mine ! " exclaimed Mary, in 
a tone that showed she was disappointed and angry with 
herself. 

That evening the tall form of Dame Guppy confronted Mary 
Rawson. 

" You threw away the ball I gave you ? " said she. 

" Yes, but I did n't know what was in it." 

" Your character was in it, and I fear you have thrown that 
away. The act shows how little heart and conscience you 
have." 

" But, Aunt, what was in the ball ? " 

" I shall never tell you ; only this, — yourself was in the 
ball." 

" But the young officer will return it." 

" To me, if to any one," said the eccentric woman. " The 
ball was given you for the soldiers, and you were not to have 
the contents unless the yarn was knit by you. See ? 



THREE HALLS OF YARN. 273 

"' [f thou has! given hosen and shoon, 
Every night and a', 
Sit thee down and put them on, 
And may Christ save thy sa'. 

" 'If hosen and shoon thou hast given nane, 
Every night and a', 
The winnies will prick thee to the bane, 
And may Christ save thy sa'.' 

" I will tell you, Mary, you will be given eyes to see one day 
that men and women gain by giving, and that selfishness closes 
the doors of life. Remember, — 

" ' This ae night, this ae night, 
Every night and a', 
Fire and sleet and candle-light, 
And may Christ save thy sa'.' " 

What was in Mary Rawson's ball of yarn ? Would the young 
officer ever return it to her ? The two questions haunted the 
girl. 

Months passed. General Glover and the Marbleheaders 
piloted Washington across the Delaware and became the heroes 
of Trenton. The brave Marblehead regiment became known 
throughout the colonies. But General Glover's family gave 
him anxiety, for they were very poor. 

" A few days ago." he wrote to General Washington, from 
West Point, in January, 1781, " I received a letter from my 
daughter, the purport of which has caused me much anxiety. 
My affection for my helpless children urges the necessity of 
making them a visit before the campaign opens, for they are 
suffering. My daughter of eighteen has the care of the other 
children. They live in Marblehead, where food is dear, and I 
have not received any pay for twenty months." 

That was a grand celebration of Independence Day, when, 
in 1784, the old bell of Marblehead rang out over the summer 

18 



274 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

sea for the return of the survivors of Valley Forge and Tren- 
ton. The vessels in the harbor blossomed with flags ; the men 
who had marched over frozen clods with broken shoes and 
stockingless feet to the shores of the Delaware were there. 
Over the house of General Glover floated the grand old battle- 
flag. Cannon boomed from the rocks ; the people filled the 
streets, dressed in holiday attire. 

•There came riding into the town, early in the morning of 
that day, the same courier who had visited the place on a secret 
mission just before the battle of Trenton. It was Lieutenant 
Blythe, a trusted, courier under General Glover. He marched 
that day by the side of the general. The people had heard his 
history, and remembered what had occurred as he rode past 
General Glover's house on his last visit to Marblehead. He 
had a fine, manly face, and was cheered wherever he appeared. 

His coming filled Mary Rawson with hope, pleasure, and yet 
with a kind of apprehension and terror. 

After the long silence, in which she had felt the chill of 
public opinion, had her day of triumph come at last ? 

" Hurrah for the stocking-knitters ! " shouted some of the 
men of the regiment as they marched past the house of Gen- 
eral Glover, and saluted the women in the door. 

Mary Rawson answered the shout with a wave of a hand- 
kerchief, and at the same moment felt a hand upon her shoulder, 
and a voice in a tone of reproof said, — 

" ' If thou hast hosen and shoon, 
Every night and a', 
Sit thee down and put them on.' " 

It was Aunt Guppy, tall and scornful, with a red handkerchief 
plaited over her breast, and a cap border starched higher than 
ever. 

That afternoon, just before the officer was to leave town, he 
asked General Glover, " Can I see Mary Rawson ? " 



THREE BALLS OF YARN. 275 

« Certainly." 

The two were introduced in the parlor and were soon left 
there by themselves. 

"Miss Rawson," said the officer, "will you allow me to say 
thai 1 found a chain and key in the ball of yarn which I have 
been told you threw after me when I was last in Marblehead? 
I was told by the general what the throwing of a ball of yarn 
implied, and let me assure you, I was not insensible to the com- 
pliment ; but I have not hesitated as to what I ought to do. 
You will pardon me. I hope, but I have to return to you the 
chain and key, as in honor I am bound to do, and there I must 
leave the matter; I cannot do more. I should have been better 
pleased had you knit the ball for our soldiers, who were at that 
time suffering greatly." 

The girl started back with a resentful look, her cheek turn- 
ing pale and her lips colorless. 

'•You may see to-day what the sufferings of the American 
soldier have done for this nation," he added. He drew back 
the curtain. The sea-breeze was moving the cool boughs of 
the trees, and the flag was floating above the green, full of sun- 
shine, beauty, and peace. 

The eyes of the two fell silently upon the flag. There it 
unfolded its stars and threw out its triumphant folds on the free 
air. 

" This is the only response I can make," he said. " Here is 
the key." 

Mary turned away with a white face, saying, — 

" ' This ;ie night, this ae night. 
Every night and a', 
If hosen and shoon thou hast given nane, 

Every night and a', 
The winnies will prick thee to the bane, 
And may Christ save thy sa'.' 



276 ZIGZAG STORIES. ~ 

" I am justly punished. Aunt was not responsible for all her 
eccentricities ; but if she was, I am sure of the truth of what 
she so often said, that we gain in this world by giving, and 
selfishness shuts the door of life." 



A MODERN SAMSON, WHOSE HAIR GREW AGAIN. 

Sunday was a stilt day in old New England a century ago. 
People did not ride much nor walk far. It was a still day, even 
in haying time. 

There were few farmers then who regarded labor in the hay- 
field on the Sabbath as a work of necessity. This idea was of 
later growth, when farm life on that day began to show greater 
activity. 

How still it was in those old sacred days in the fiery mid- 
summer weather ! The church bell rang at ten o'clock, and its 
notes echoed among the hills and along the valleys. The 
swarths of cut grass lay as the scythes of the mowers had left 
them on Saturday. No dinner horn blew ; the bells of no bread- 
cart man came jingling lazily along from house to house ; no ox- 
cart rumbled over the roads. 

After church the hired men rested in the half -filled haylofts in 
the barn or under the shadows of the trees, and, perhaps, dis- 
cussed the morning sermon, or told the old wonder-tales of the 
farms and inns. If clouds gathered in the afternoon, the deacon 
would stand in his door, and shade his eyes, and say, — 

" I guess there 's goin' to be a shower, and the hay will get 
a wettin'," and would retire to his lounge with peace of con- 
science, leaving the ricks and windrows of hay to the mercy of 
the sky. 

It was such a Sabbath afternoon that the Widow Stillwell sat 
in the door of her cottage, and looked out on the fragrant fields 



A MODERN SAMSON, WHOSE HAIR GREW AGAIN. J7T 

and green woods. Her son, Gideon, or " Gid," as she called 
him, had just returned from church. 

" There 's cold victuals on the table, Gid," she said. " The 
coffee is cold, 'cos I ain't goin' to kindle any tire to-day. 
There 's milk and mush and corn' beef, and swamp tarts, and 
wild strawberries and cream, and that's enough. What did the 
preacher preach about?'' 

" Samson ! " 

" Sho — did he? That was a powerful subject. Where was 
the text? You tell me, and I '11 find it, and after dinner I '11 
talk with you about it, and you must n't go to sleep while your 
old mother is talkin'. You '11 think of me some day, when I am 
dead. Where was it, Gid ? " 

" I don't know where, Mother, but I recollect the words : 
4 And the Philistines took him and put out his eyes, and brought 
him down to Gaza, and he did grind in the prison-house.' ' ; 

" Good for ye, Gid ! What a memory you have got ! That 
does yer old mother's heart good. ' Did grind in the prison- 
house.' I '11 get the concordance and look it up. You go and 
get your dinner." 

Gideon sat down at a scoured oak-table in the long porch, to 
a cold Sunday dinner. The door was open, and a hen with a 
brood of chickens came in, and he fed them. 

" What you doin', Gid?" 

" Oh, nothin', Mother." 

Mrs. Still well appeared and saw the hen and chickens, 
and raised her apron and said, " Shoo ; " then added, " ' And 
he did grind in the prison-house ; ' that 's a mighty improvin' 
text. 

" No matter how good folk a man may have, if he don't do as 
he ought to do, he will one day find himself at the mill grindin', 
with his eyes put out. Eh? I 've seen a lot of folks grindin' 
in my day. Yes, Gid, grindin', grindin', grindin', grindin'. 

" Sin puts out the eyes of its servants, and sends them all 



278 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

grindin', grindin', grindin' at the mill, and a sorry spectacle they 
are at last. 

" There 's 'Squire Brown's son ; he 's just drinked up his 
father's farm, and the Philistines have got him; he 's grindin', 
grindin', grindin'. There 's Ned Gray, he that ran away with 
the Gratlin gal; he was heady; he's grindin'. The Philistines 
have got him. 

" Gideon, that 's a mighty improvin' text. Be careful that 
the Philistines don't ever get you.'''' 

" But, mother — " " 

"What, Gid?" 

" The parson, he said ' howbeit.' " 

" Howbeit what, Gid?" 

" ' Howbeit the hair of his head began to grow after he was 
shaven." 

" Yes, but he was n't what he used to be. Don't you ever be 
a'howbeit man, Gideon. Have ye eaten all ye want? Well, let 
us go and set down in the keepin' room, and talk. I '11 wash 
the dinner dishes to-morrow." 

The widow found the text of the sermon in the Book of 
Judges, and began to give her views upon it. In the midst of a 
very earnest exhortation she dropped her spectacles and lifted 
her hands. 

" Asleep, Gid ? Well, the poor boy has worked hard during 
the week." 

She gazed out of the window under the morning-glories. An 
old guide-post stood at the corner of the ways. 

" Poor boy," she said to herself, " I wonder what course he 
will take. There are clouds in the sky, and the robins are 
singin', and I '11 go out and see that the cows come up to the 
apple pasture, so that Gideon will not have to hunt for them if 
it comes on to rain." 

She went out. The clouds passed, and the Sabbath echoed to 
the golden coronatipn of a long twilight. 



.1 MODERN SAMSON, WHOSE HAIR GREW ALAIN. 27 ( J 

Gideon Stillwell was a bright boy. The widow said that he 
"favored his father," who came to be at last a justice of the 
peace. In the Friday evening conference meetings, and at the 
winter evening debating societies at the schoolhouse, Gideons 
voice always awakened expectation, and at the "speaking 
schools," that held weekly evening sessions at the schoolhouse, 
he was always received with great cheering when he stepped 
upon the platform, and honored with greater cheering when he 
stepped down. At an early age, after attaining his majority, he 
was elected field-driver and pound-keeper at the town meeting, 
and at the age of twenty-rive he arrived at the high honor of his 
father, in being made a justice of the peace. These were days 
that made the widow's heart glad. 

But there was a barter store in the neighborhood, where all 
kinds of commodities were sold, and to this Gideon began to go 
to spend his evenings, to play checkers and joke and talk. 
Here he learned to drink liquors and treat, and became intimate 
with some young men who, like the favorite hero of the drink- 
ing song of the time, " Rosin the Beau," believed in having a 
merry time in the world. To use the refrain of one of their 
songs as a picture : — 



" To-night we '11 merry, merry be, 
And to-morrow we "11 net sober." 



On holidays these jovial fellows became a terror and a nui- 
sance to the community, and they made it a habit to celebrate 
the evening before the Fourth of July by a frolic, or, as they 
termed it in country language, by "going off on a spree." 

This change of habits led to a great change in Gideon. The 
community were very charitable towards his weaknesses and 
lapses, because he was a widow's son, and his father had been a 
good man, and his own life had opened in such a promising way. 

" I 'm sorry," said the old parson, " but let us lie kindly. He 



280 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

will return to his Father's house again ; " and, with this chari- 
table, spiritual figure, he rested the case with hope. 

Independence Day, after the victory of Commodore Perry on 
Lake Erie, was for several years celebrated with great enthu- 
siasm in all American cities and towns. The bands played 
" The President's March ; " floral chariots, with young girls 
representing goddesses, led triumphal processions ; arches 
spanned the streets, and the country people gathered about the 
gingerbread carts in the towns. The nights blazed with bon- 
fires ; tar barrels made lurid the sky, and bells and cannon 
awoke the morn and saluted the sunset. It was a day of fire 
and noise — the one great day that voiced the exultant political 
spirit of the time. America stood for liberty in the view of 
those good times ; and liberty was destined to topple all 
thrones and crumble all crowns, and lead the world to ultimate 
equality of rights, to a unity of brotherhood and never-ending 
peace. 

The young orator was usually the hero of these unexampled 
celebrations. He was sometimes a minister, sometimes a lawyer 
or college student. He usually began his oration with " Ladies 
and Gentlemen : We have assembled here to commemorate 
the days on which our fathers fought, bled, and died." Then 
the eagle began to fly. 

Next in honor to the orator Avas the reader of the Declara- 
tion of Independence, who gave that document of Jefferson to 
the public in an oratorical tone, which was a kind of heroic 
chant. The grand language, "When, in the course of human 
events," was thrown on the air like the voice of a trumpet; 
the arraignment of George III. rose and fell in stately tones, 
and the effectiveness and eloquence of the reading was a 
subject of comment for weeks after the event. 

It was in one of these grand patriotic years that Bristol, the 
town in which the Widow Stillwell and her son lived, had voted 
at the town meeting to hold a celebration on the coming Fourth 



A MODERN SAMSON, WHOSE HAIR GREW AGAIN. 281 

of July, and had chosen the then justices of the peace and the 
old Orthodox clergyman to act as a committee. 

The committee appointed the young Episcopal clergyman of 
the place as orator, and, at the advice of the parson, Gideon 
Stillwell to read the Declaration of Independence. 

A partof the committee made objection to this last nomination. 

''Gideon has a grand voice.** said the parson. 

"But his conduct on past Independence Days has not been 
an honor to the town,*' said one. " He carouses." 

-Tins will save him. This will save him," said the old 
parson. " This honor will go right to his heart, and make a 
man of him. And," he added kindly, "it will cheer the heart 
of his mother. The widow is a good woman — a good family ; 
they helped burn the ' Gaspee.' " 

This last touch appealed to local patriotism, and the com- 
mittee unanimously voted that Gideon Stillwell should read 
the Declaration. 

Gideon received this intelligence of this crown of honor with 
a divided heart. He had spent his evenings much at the stoic 
of late, and he and his comrades had agreed to have a frolic on 
the night of the Fourth, and had formed a strange plan to 
startle the town. 

On the old farms around the town there were, in midsummer, 
old stacks of hay that had been left over from the foddering 
seasons. With the exception of the tar-barrel, there is nothing 
that will fill the sky at night with such a lurid light as the 
burning of an old haystack. It was the secret plan of the jolly 
fellows who met at the country store to set fire to all of the 
old haystacks on the farms around the town on the evening 
of the Fourth, and then to assemble in the old place and enjoy 
the excitement of the joke, and have a drunken carousal. 

If Gideon Stillwell accepted the high honor offered him for 
the Fourth, he must at once break away from his old comrades 
and all association with this unlawful escapade. 



282 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

The sensation of the proposed frolic had been a delightful 
prospect to Gideon's mind. But the town had appealed to his 
better nature, pride, and honor. He thought of his mother, his 
Revolutionary ancestry, and his future ; and he accepted the 
invitation, and began to rehearse the eloquent reading out in 
the barn and in the woods. 

Poor Widow Stillwell used to listen to these rehearsals at 
the door. She delighted to hear " created free and equal," and 
" inalienable rights," and " life and liberty and the pursuit of 
happiness " soaring" like eagles over mountain tops into the 
air. She shut the door softly when " these States are and of a 
right ought to be free and independent," and sometimes sat 
down and covered her face with her apron, saying, " Oh, that 
I should ever be blessed by being the mother of a boy like 
that!" 

The town of Bristol contained the county jail. In the yard 
'there had been placed a curious machine for the discipline of 
stubborn prisoners, called a treadmill. Prisoners were not 
numerous in the county, and there really seemed to be no 
especial need of this English instrument of torture ; but other 
officers of prisons were building them to meet the wants of 
difficult cases, and the officers here were public-spirited men, 
and did not like to be wanting in any of the improved methods 
of discipline and compulsory reform. 

These treadmills were constructed on the principle of the 
old-fashioned horsethreshing-machines. The culprit who was 
placed in one was compelled to tread until he was released. 

This clock-work motion soon became very tiresome, painful, 
and exhausting. The officers of prisons called the discipline 
"the breaking of the will." Most prisoners so disciplined 
promised obedience after a very short experience. Of all dis- 
couraging inventions to subdue crankiness and perverseness, 
the treadmill was one of the most effective. 

Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, in his early years, once wrote a 



A MODERN SAM SOX, WHOSE HAIR GREW AGAIN. 283 

treadmill song, which used to be found in old readers and 
speakers : — 

" The stars are rolling in the skies, 

The earth rolls on below, 
And we can feel the rattling wheels 

Revolving as we go. 
Then tread away, my gallant boys, 

And make the axle fly; 
Why should not wheels go round about 

Like planets iu the sky ? " 

The treadmill as a prison punishment has long disappeared 
from penal institutions in England and America. 

The evening of the Fourth of July came after a blazing day 
on the blue bays and green hay-fields. The jolly jokers met 
early at the store. In an old ill-starred, moment of weakness 
Gideon had consented to meet with them, although he had de- 
clined to go with them. The party were in high spirits, and 
were enjoying their fun in anticipation. 

" Gideon," said one, " go." 

" But the reading at the church ? " 

"No one outside of the party will ever know how you spent 
the night, and you may be sure that none of us will tell." 

"But if we were to be detected? It would ruin my name. 
and be a disgrace to the town." 

" We are not going to be detected." 

" I might get over-excited and heated, and drink too much, 
and that would unfit me for to-morrow." 

" We will see to that. We will not let you get drunk." 

"I'm heady when I have been drinking; my judgment is 
warped; I do things that I am sorry for. A little liquor brings 
out all that is bad in me. When T am half drunk I am fit only 
for crime. You know how it is. You ought not to tempt me 
to-night, of all nights. Everything in my life depends upon my 
keeping straight to-night." 



284 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" But, Gideon, drink a little with jovial comrades." 

" Take a little just to wet your whistle," said one. 

He did ; and then he took a little more to keep it company. 
Presently he began to grow jovial, and slap his companions on 
their backs and knees. 

He looked out of the door on the green woods that the hills 
lifted into the air. The moon was rising, shield-like and dusky, 
like the sun coming up again. 

"It's a staver of a night," said he; "just the one for a lark. 
Boys, I '11 go." 

The moon rose over the dewy hills and glimmering bays. At 
about eleven o'clock four great fires, like columns of name, rose 
into the air from as many farms. The sky became smoke, then 
turned into a wannish glare, and the whole heavens seemed to 
become a sheet of flame. 

The church bells in the town began to ring. People rushed 
out of their houses, both in the town and country. At midnight 
the whole population was in the streets or roads. 

" It is only haystacks," said a fireman on horseback, as he 
rushed back to the town from the farms. 

But a more serious event happened. One of the burning 
stacks communicated its flames to a large barn, and the burning 
barn set fire to an old historic farmhouse. As soon as the 
larkers discovered this serious result and began to comprehend 
that their joke was a crime, they stole back to the store. 

The early morning found them here intoxicated, and the 
selectmen and town constables also found them here. The 
officers rushed in to arrest them, when their eyes fell upon 
Gideon. 

They paused. Their hearts were full of chagrin, mortifica- 
tion, and sorrow. 

"We must do our duty," said the constable. 

The men were arrested and led amid wondering, humiliated 
throngs to the county jail. 



A MODERN SAMSON, WHOSE HAIR CREW AGAIN. 285 

Once in the jail yard they began to throw off the cloud of 
drunken stupor, and see their position. 

They refused to enter the jail; rough words followed, and 
then resistance was made to officers, and a. list tight put the cus- 
todians of the peace at bay. 

The constable sent for help. Strong men came; still the 
prisoners resisted. 

" Force them down, and put them into the treadmill," said 
the sheriff. 

There followed a rough handling of the stack burners, but 
the officers were soon masters of the place, and the jolly party 
of the night before found themselves on the revolving cylinder, 
at the mercy of the common jailer. At the head of this sorry 
row. who had started a motion that they could not stop, was 
the appointed reader of the Declaration on this day of national 
honor, Gideon Stillwell. 

The jail yard was surrounded by a fence, and over this the 
heads of boys began to rise. 

" They 're in the treadmill. Here \s a sight ; run, hurry, — 
oh, oh, they are in the treadmill ! " 

So shouted a pioneer in the discovery of this strange, odd 
scene. Boys ran, men ran, and even girls and young women 
ran, all who could mounted to the top of the fence, some shout- 
ing, some jeering, some laughing, and some crying. 

The treadmill here was a kind of shed, with stalls for five or 
six prisoners, and a rail on which the culprits leaned. 

If ever a man's face wore an expression of agony, horror, and 
despair, it was that of Gideon Stillwell on the glowing forenoon 
of Independence Day. He heard the boys jeering on the fence, 
and he knew that his disgrace would be the talk of the town for 
a generation. He could not do anything to mitigate the humili- 
ation of his position. 

The high windows and the Toofs of the houses around the jail 
yard tilled with people. Gideon heard voices in the air, crack- 



286 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

ers and horns, and lie knew what it meant. But he was in the 
wheel, and the wheel went round and round, and every revolu- 
tion made his bones ache and cry out for rest. 

One of his fellows began to rail and scold. This caused a 
great outcry to go up from the fence. 

The church bell pealed out on the air. Gideon heard it. It 
was the bell that he had expected would call him to his place of 
honor. A boy shouted from the fence, — 

" Now, Gideon, give us the Declaration." 

At this the boys all along the fence waved their hats and 
cried, "Three cheers for Independence ! " 

Another cried, " Three cheers for Washington, Commodore 
Perry, and Gideon ; " which was followed by " Three cheers for 
Gideon's Band ! " 

This last volley was repeated amid shouts of laughter. All 
was excitement, merriment, and sorrow. 

Suddenly there fell a silence. The faces were turned back- 
ward to the long street, and one boy said, " She 's coming," and 
all ceased to jeer. The windows became silent and the house- 
tops. One could hear the robins sing. But the wheel went 
round. 

An old woman on a crutch was coming down the street towards 
the jail. All eyes were fixed upon her, and many eyes began to 
fill with tears. She hobbled slowly along under the elms, her 
gray hair flying on the light wind out of a funnel-shaped bonnet. 

She came up to the fence, and said, — 

" Boy, get down, and let me see." 

The boy addressed dropped upon the ground. The old woman 
raised herself on her crutch, and slowly lifted her gray head 
above the fence. There was silence as deep as the air. 

Her eyes were dim, but she saw it all. Her gaze was fixed 
on Gideon, who was near her. And the wheel went round. 

"Grrindin', Gideon?" 

The wheel went round. 



AN ESCAPE FROM PIRATES. 287 

" 'And the Philistines took him and put out his eyes, and he 
did grind in the prison-house.' Oh, Gideon, do you remember? " 

The wheel went round. 

"Gideon, I am in ' the chamber over the gate,' and I wish 
that I were dead." 

The wheel went round. 

" Grindin', grindin', grindin'." 

The wheel went round. 

" Mother ? " 

"What, Gideon?" 

" Hovjbeit, his hair began to grow after he was shaven." 

" ' Hoivbcit V Gideon, I will forgive ye. Yer old mother's 
heart is all that is left you now in the world. When you get 
through grindin' at the mill in the prison-house, come home, 
Gideon. I'll mortgage my place, and pay yer tine. And now 
I '11 hobble back and pray. 1 am all that is left to ye, and God 
is all that is left to me." 

A bell rang. The wheel stopped. 

And Gideon — his hair grew again. He lived down his dis- 
grace and became a worthy citizen, and was forgiven by the 
kind community. 

He and his old mother sleep among the slated memorials of 
the old churchyard near the the green, under the elms, where 
the orioles sing in the summer-time. 



AN ESCAPE FROM PIRATES. 

If a feeling of superstition with regard to unlucky vessels 
were ever pardonable, it must surely have been so in the case of 
the brig " Crawford," owned first at Freetown, Massachusetts, 
and afterwards for many years at Warren, Rhode Island. 

It would seem as if no nervous person, acquainted with her 



288 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

history, could have trod her decks in the still midnight watches 
upon the ocean, without a creeping sensation of dread. 

The writer has a distinct recollection of this little full-rigged 
brig, as a vessel which figured prominently among the notable 
craft of his boyhood. There were dark stains on her deck which 
had the appearance of iron rust, but which all knew were not 
iron rust. She had been the scene of a tragedy that, with its 
associations, was one of the most remarkable upon record. 

Her whaling voyages from Warren, of which she made a 
number, were all unfortunate in a pecuniary sense. From one 
of them, after an absence of fourteen months, she returned with- 
out having taken a drop of oil, — her captain having actually 
been obliged to purchase a supply for the binnacle lamp at some 
foreign port. 

But the one dreadful event of her history had occurred while 
she belonged to Freetown. In fact, it was chiefly in conse- 
quence of this that she was sold to her purchasers in Warren, — 
her original owners feeling that they could no longer bear to 
look upon her. 

It was, I think, about 1829, that the " Crawford " sailed for 
the West Indies, under the command of a Captain Brightman, 
whose crew consisted of his two mates, a cook, and three fore- 
mast hands. 

Her outward cargo was disposed of at Havana, and she was 
nearly ready for the homeward voyage when four Spaniards 
came on board, seeking for a passage to the United States. 
They were villanous-looking fellows, with swarthy faces and 
flashing black eyes. 

The mate advised Captain Brightman not to accept them, and 
urged his objections with some force. The captain himself hesi- 
tated at first ; but the thought of the passage-money was too 
tempting, and he finally consented to take the strangers on board. 

One of the four passengers could speak English, but his com- 
panions knew only Spanish. After the brig had been at sea a 



.4.Y ESCAPE FROM PIRATES. 2X ( .) 

few days, the cook detected this man. whose name was Tardy, 
in the act of sprinkling some white substance on a quantity of 
food in the galley. Tardy explained that the article was a kind 
of seasoning well known in Cuba, and that he wished the officers 
and crew to try its flavor. 

The cook scraped off as much of it as he could; hut, although 
the fact of his doing so shows that he must have had a suspicion 
of foul play, he unfortunately did not make known the incident 
until too late. He may have thought that his knife had removed 
all danger. 

Immediately after eating, the captain and chief mate were 
taken violently ill. The foremast hands also felt some had 
effects from their meal, though in a less degree ; but the second 
mate escaped, as his duties on deck had kept him from eating 
with the captain. As to the four passengers, they, of course, 
had taken care not to touch the food on which the white powder 
had been sprinkled. 

It was now that the terrified cook told the mate what had 
occurred in the galley. But in a few moments his voice was 
silenced forever. He was struck down by the murderous 
pirates, who, seeing that their work was but half accomplished 
by the poison, at once proceeded to complete it with their knives. 

The captain and chief mate they killed in the cabin ; the cook 
and one of the foremast hands were murdered close by the wind- 
lass, on the forward part of the deck ; while another sailor was 
killed as he stood at the wheel. 

Meanwhile, the second mate, whose name was Durfee, and a 
man named Allen Bicknell, of Harrington, Rhode Island, who 
were now the only survivors, ran aloft, in the forlorn hope of 
thus saving their lives. The pirates fired at Bicknell with pis- 
tols, wounding him as he stood in the foretop. 

Tardy now hailed the second mate, promising to spare his life 
if he would come down, as they required him to navigate the 
vessel. He accordingly descended, and was not harmed. See- 

19 



290 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

ing the officer in present safety, Bicknell, the poor sailor, already 
wounded, asked if they would spare him also. Upon receiving 
a reply in the affirmative, he came painfully down the rigging ; 
but the moment he reached the deck he was killed. 

The vessel was now entirely in the possession of these mon- 
sters, and the feelings of Durfee must have been indescribable, 
as he realized the extent of the tragedy and his own dreadful 
situation. 

He knew, of course, that the pirates would never, if they 
could "help it, permit him to leave the vessel alive. It might 
serve their purpose to spare him for a time, but unless he should 
be able to hit upon some manner of deliverance, the fate of his 
shipmates must at last be his. 

The bodies of the victims were thrown into the sea, and the 
four murderous scoundrels then commenced searching the cabin, 
.being apparently aware that she had on board a considerable 
amount of money. This they brought on deck and divided, all 
the while talking rapidly in Spanish. 

Tardy now informed the second mate that the brig must be 
taken to South America. Durfee well knew that should he 
carry the wretches to that part of the world, his own doom 
would be sealed the moment they reached its shores. He sought 
for some excuse to land elsewhere, and fortunately found one. 

" I can take you to South America," he said . " but for such a 
voyage we must have more water. We have only enough to 
last for a short time, and we may be sixty or seventy days on 
the passage." 

Tardy uttered a Spanish oath or two, and then asked if a sup- 
ply could not be obtained by entering some inlet of the coast 
where there would be no danger of capture. 

" Yes," replied Durfee, glad that the pirate had anticipated a 
proposition which he himself had intended to make. " We 
could run in at night and get out before morning. Then we 
should be all ready for a voyage to South America or anywhere 
else." 



AN ESCAPE FROM PIRATES. 291 

Tartly flourished his knife fiercely before the face of his help- 
less prisoner, thus indicating what would be done in ease of the 
least attempt at deception. Durfee's nerves had already suffered 
terribly, and it was only by the greatest effort that he could 
maintain anything like an appearance of calmness. 

Hastily running over in his thoughts the various inlets of the 
coast, he resolved upon making for Chesapeake Bay. He was 
far, however, from telling the pirates of his decision, but led 
them to suppose that the destination was some obscure nook 
among islands and promontories. It was fortunate for him that 
they knew nothing whatever of the coast, and were ignorant even 
of the existence of the wide water sheet which lie had in mind. 

He used to relate that while the vessel was running on the 
course he had chosen, and he was filled with the most dreadful 
anxiety lest his plans should, after all, miscarry, Tardy would 
come to him, and with oaths, boast of the murders he had 
committed. 

Great was Durfee's anxiety as the brig made the land. Soon 
his fate would be decided. He thought with a sickening sensa- 
tion of the pirates" threats, but he thought, too, of the fort at Old 
Point Comfort; and upon this bis hope rested. It must, of 
course, be approached at night; and luckily the Spaniards were 
as anxious for the cover of darkness as was he himself, so that 
he was permitted to keep off shore until past sunset. 

Then the little brig stood in under all sail. With a fine 
breeze she passed Cape Henry, and continued her course up the 
bay. It was for Durfee an hour of unspeakable suspense. At 
any moment the pirates might take alarm, and he felt almost a 
surprise to find that they did not do so. Here and there could 
be seen distant lights, but the shores were hidden in darkness. 
and the evil-eyed wretches, wary as they were, seemed not to 
suspect treachery. 

Being for the time in command, as navigator and pilot, the 
anxious officer was at the wheel, while his unwelcome compan- 
ions stood ready to shorten sail and let go the anchor at his bid- 



292 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

ding. It may well be imagined that he measured with every 
nerve alert each inch of the way. 

The brig's yawl hung at the stern davits. He had made sure 
that its tackles were in running order. How near to the fort 
would he dare to approach before bringing the brig to ? 

Presently he directed his dangerous crew to take in the light 
sails and the courses. Tardy repeated the order in Spanish, and 
it was obeyed. 

" Let go the topsail halyards,'' was the next command ; and 
down came the top-sail yards upon the caps. 

Clearing his throat for another effort, Durfee felt that his 
heart-throbs were almost suffocating. Nevertheless, he was able 
to command his voice. 

" Stand by to let go anchor ! " he cried, feeling that in another 
moment he would know his fate. The four pirates ran to the 
'windlass. 

" Let go ! " 

There was a splash under the bow, and a swift paying out of 
the cable. Just then Durfee sprang over the taffrail and into 
the boat, lowering it instantly, and with a violent push sent it 
spinning from under the brig's counter ; then, seizing an oar, he 
commenced sculling with all his might. As he did so, he heard 
the Spaniards rushing aft, but they were too late to get more 
than a glimpse of him in the darkness. 

The grim fortress at Old Point Comfort was not a quarter of 
mile distant. Durfee's calls drew the attention of the sentries, 
and in a few minutes there were lights gleaming from a row of 
port-holes, with the black muzzles of cannon looking threaten- 
ingly forth into the darkness, and a dozen soldiers were at once 
ordered to board the vessel. On reaching her, they found only 
three of the pirates on deck. These were at once made prison- 
ers. Hurrying into the cabin, they found Tardy lying dead 
upon the floor. Struck with despair at the impossibility of 
escape, he had chosen to die by his own hand rather than to 
await the inevitable halter. 



THE MYSTERIOUS SACK. 293 

His three accomplices were tried and hanged at Norfolk. 
They died protesting their innocence, and declaring that the 
entire guilt rested upon their dead confederate. 

As to poor Durfee, the second mate, after the dreadful scenes 
he had passed through, he was never really himself. His ner- 
vous system had been thoroughly shattered. 

Who can wonder that painful thoughts were always associated 
with the " Crawford," or that a gloom should seem to invest 
even the old Warren wharf where she used to lie ? 



THE MYSTERIOUS SACK; OR, TWO BUSHELS OF 

CORN. 

Farmer Brown was shelling four bushels of corn on the cob, 
which, according to the mathematics and tabular weights and 
measures of old New England days, would make two bushels of 
corn for the purpose of the farm bin or the miller. He was 
shelling the four bushels of corn by use of a common cob in 
his right hand, which cob he used to remove the kernels by 
pressure. This oldtime way of shelling corn made the hands 
hard and horny, and the muscles of the wrist strong. Woe be 
to the culprit who should have fallen into the hands of a profes- 
sional corn-sheller ! He might as well have been bound with 
withes of hornbine. The boy who felt the withy grasp of such 
a left hand, and the application of a button-wood rod by such a 
right hand, was sure to have his memory permanently quick- 
ened, and the lesson usually proved effectual. Such farmers, 
from their lordly dialogues with their oxen, had strong voices as 
well as hands, and when one of them said, " Boy," it meant 
much. And " boy " was just the word that Farmer Brown said 
while shelling corn. 



294 ZIGZAG STORIES, 

Harry Brown, the " boy," started. " Boy " was a word of 
command from the generalissimo of the farm. 

"Sir?" 

Mrs. Brown was sitting in the armchair by the stand, knitting 
by the tallow candle. Mr. Brown was shelling corn because he 
had nothing else to do ; and Mrs. Brown was knitting because 
she had nothing else to do ; and Harry Brown was studying a 
music-book by good old William Billings, of Stoughton, because 
he sang in the choir of Hard-Scrabble Church, — which is a real 
name, and not one made up for story-telling purposes. Harry 
had been drawling " Do, mi, sol, do," when the word of com- 
mand came. 

" Boy, seeing' as it is now almost Thanksgiving time, I 'm 
going to do just the right thing — " 

Mrs. Brown dropped her needles. What was going to happen ? 
j3he was a thrifty, frugal woman. Was Mr. Brown going to 
give away something out of their hard earnings and savings ? 
If so, what, and to whom ? No unworthy person, she hoped. 

" I 've been thinking over this bushel of corn ; I always do a 
deal of thinking when I am shelling corn." 

" What you been thinking about, Eben ? " 

" About the sermon that Elder Leland preached on the text, 
4 For if ye love them that love you, what reward have ye ; do 
not even the publicans so ? ' Now, Peter Rugg has not used 
me just right, and I am going to make him a present of two 
bushels of corn. And, boy, you shall cany it over to him to- 
morrow morning on horseback." 

Mrs. Brown's cap border lifted. She dove at the snuffers, 
and snuffed the candle with a spiteful dive at the long black 
wick. 

"Eben!" 

" Well, Eunice ? " 

" Peter Rugg just gets his living by doing nothin', don't 
he ? " 



THE MYSTERIOUS SACK. 295 

" Yes, but he is sick now ; and you know the text. There 's 
no merit in doin' just what you want to do, and havin' your own 
way and will, and lookin' for reward, Elder Leland says — " 

"And Peter Pugg's wife, she goes a-visitin' for a livin', and 
eats up everybody's plum-cake and apple-sass — " 

" Yes, yes ! but Peter was shiftless — born so, tired-like — and 
she had to eat something ; and he 's sick now." 

" Well, I don't approve no such doin's. I don't believe in 
encouragin' idleness. If a man will not work, neither shall 
he eat ! There now, Eben ! " 

"Do, mi, sol, do," sang Harry. 

" The morning sun shines from the east, 
And spreads its glories to the west." 

He was practising the "Ode on Science," — the crowning attain- 
ment of all musical efforts in these simple singing-school days. 

" Well, I do declare, Eben, I hope if you send two bushels of 
corn, of your own shellin' too, to that shiftless Peter Rugg — I 
do hope — " 

" What, Eunice ? " 

" That it will never get there." 

" Sho ! Eunice ; that ain't the right sperit, — when our barns 
and cribs are full too, and Peter is the only real poor person in 
the town too ; and he 's the only one in all the world that has n't 
used me quite right too. I "11 have to send it to him, or else be 
very poor and mean in soul, and carry about with me a feelin' 
that I have n't done my duty, and been grateful for all my 
blessin's. Eunice, I 'm goin' to do it anyhow." 

" Well, all that I 've got to say is that I do hope that the 
grist will never get there." 

" Now, boy, 3*011 may go to singin'-school." 

Harry slipped away with the parallelogram of an " American 
Vocalist " under his arm. The singing-school made great pro- 



296 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

gress on the " Ode on Science " that night, and Harry had 
descended into those deep and cavernous regions of solemn 
bass foundations with the ambition of a basso prof undo. 

The moon was hanging over the dark shoulders of Greylock, 
and the lights glimmering on Stafford Hill, as he returned. It 
was a crisp night, with a gleam of frost crystals everywhere in 
the bare harvest fields, the blue gentian pastures, and alluvial 
cranberry meadows. He continued to sing ; he could not help 
it, — the piece haunted him. Nothing at all so wonderful as 
the accomplishment of that piece by the singing-school had ever 
before come into his experience. The words, too, were magical 
to him, — like a new world. So in the new creations of the 
poet and composer, he jogged along, singing, until he came to 
the graveyard where Captain Joab Stafford and the heroes of 
Bennington lie buried, and then he continued to whistle the 
'same tune. A boy at that time did not know what might hap- 
pen when he was passing a graveyard. 

The next morning Harry received the same peremptory sum- 
mons to attention, — " Boy ! " Now, this was not intended in 
this strange case to be reproachful toward Harry, but to let 
prudential Eunice understand that in this case of casuistry his 
mind was made up. 

" Boy, bring the old roan horse ; and I will put on his back 
the two bushels of corn." 

Eunice heard the order, and she knew that the laconic word 
was meant for her ears. She said nothing, but went on grind- 
ing coffee, pounding locker, mixing johnny-cake, straining milk, 
boiling potatoes, breaking eggs, "■ settin' " the table, " shooing " 
the hens from the doorstep, feeding the dog, and " scatting " 
the cat; and all those varied and multiple duties that fall to 
the experience of a thrifty farmer's wife for the sake of being 
supported. 

The sun rose red over the valley and intervales. The blue 
jays seemed to blow about screaming, and the crows cawed in 



THE MYSTERIOUS SACK. 'I'M 

the walnut-trees. The conquiddles had ceased to sing; hut 
there was a chipper of squirrels everywhere. One could hear 
the old mill-wheel turning in the distance two miles away. 
The trees on Park Lane, the scene of the Mason farms, were 
blazing like an army with crimson oriflammes, and fat turkeys 
were gobbling around every farmhouse for miles. This was the 
farm region of the famous Cheshire cheeses, — one of which, 
weighing more than twelve hundred pounds, had heen pre- 
sented to President Jefferson, Elder Leland acting as envoy 
for the merry farmers, and preaching all the way to Washington 
and hack while executing the curious commission. 

After hreakfast Harry brought the sorrel horse to the door, 
and Eben, whose benevolent heart had prompted him to a duty 
in spite of itself, put on his hack the two bushels of corn so as 
to form a kind of saddle, one bushel on one side, and the other 
on the other. 

"Take the corn to the mill," said Eben; "have it ground, 
then take the meal to Peter Rugg, and be sure to tell him that 
7" sent it." 

Harry was no idiot boy like that in Wordsworth's tale of Betty 
Foy ; but this morning his wits went wool-gathering. The " ( )de 
on Science " and his musical triumphs of the night before had 
quite turned his head, and he started off singing, — 

" The morning sun shines from the east, 
And spreads its glories to the west." 

This was literally true. The morning was bright and the air 
exhilarating, and the mountains in all the over-floods of glory 
most inspiring. After singing the "Ode on Science," Harry 
essayed " Majesty,"' and he made the woods ring with : — 

" On cherub and on cherubim 
Full royally he rode, 
And on the wings of mighty winds 
Came flying all abroad." 



298 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

He made even the chipmunks run, and the grave jays stop to 
listen. 

He was a happy boy, a very happy boy. It was a long way 
from the red house and barn of Eben Brown's farm to the great 
wooden mill-wheel on the Housatonic ; but Harry did not urge 
the roan horse, who had no disposition to be urged. Why 
should one travel fast when everything is bright and beautiful ? 

Eben had tied the bag tightly the night before, after he had 
reduced the four bushels of corn to two. He picked up every 
kernel of corn that he had chanced to scatter over the floor, and 
put it into the bag. 

Now, in the house there were mice, — sly mice. And when 
all the family were in the other world of dreams on the night 
before, one or two of these mice had explored the kitchen, and 
finding not so much as a single kernel of corn, after all the 
vigorous shelling, had each gnawed a little hole, one in either 
end of the bag, and had made a dainty meal, and slipped away, 
leaving the two little holes. The motion of the sorrel horse, 
as he walked mathematically along, began to shake out the corn 
through either end of the bag, slowly at first, but very freely at 
last, unperceived by Harry, whose mind was on wings in the 
far-off musical sky. 

As he went on singing and whistling, and sifting the corn 
unperceived, a strange annoyance befell the felicitous knight 
of the two bushels of corn. The hens ran after him from the 
farmhouses the great flocks of turkeys gobbling, the waddling 
geese quacking. He passed the great dairy farms under the 
cool shadow of Greylock and the Park Lane Ridge. Every- 
where there followed him great flocks of poultry, — ■ hens, ducks, 
geese, and turkeys ; they grew to be almost an army at last 
cackling, quacking, gobbling. 

But Hany did not stop to investigate the cause of all this 
gathering of wings and bills behind him. The fowl all seemed 
happy ; so was he. It was a bright and happy morning. 



THE MYSTERIOUS SACK. 299 

Once or twice he shook his fist at some new flocks of turkeys 
that came flying and gobbling- down from an old stone wall. 

"Don't yon gobble at me!" he said, and then went on, 
singing. 

The composite army of farm fowl left him at last, and he 
came in sight of the foaming mill-wheel that was tossing the 
cool waters of the Housatonic near the grand old orchards of 
what was once one of the New Providence farms. New Provi- 
dence is a vanished village now. Its churches and inns used 
to be on Stafford Hill, but Cheshire village has taken its place. 
One cannot so much as find New Providence on the map. It 
was settled by the Masons and Browns and Coles from Swansea, 
Massachusetts, and ( 'oventry, Rhode Island. The colony went 
to Sackville, New Brunswick, first, but finding the climate too 
rigorous, followed their pastor, Elder Mason, to the Berkshire 
Hills, and founded Cheshire under the name of New Providence. 

Suddenly Harry ceased singing. The horse's back began to 
grow hard. He thought that he would adjust the bag and 
make his position easier. He clasped the bag — and what a 
look of amazement must have come into his face ! there was 
nothing in it, not so much as a single kernel of corn ! 

Harry had heard of witches and things bewitched, of people 
casting an evil eye, of the awful ghost story that Elder Leland 
used to tell. He recalled bis mother's wish, and wondered if 
that had not bewitched the bag. Had the bag untied? He 
looked to see. No there was the string. His heart thumped, 
and he felt hot flashes and cold shivers creep over him. 

He stopped the horse. Crows cawed above him. The mill- 
wheel turned and turned before him. Why should he go 
forward? He had nothing for the miller; and what, oh, what 
could he say to the miller if he went to the mill with an empty 
bag ? 

He would retrace his way, and see if that would offer any 
clew to the appalling mystery ; but it offered none. There was 



300 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

not so much as a kernel of corn in the road, and the turkeys 
and geese and ducks and pullets everywhere seemed contented, 
with full crops and fat sides. They did not even gobble or 
quack or cackle. The world all seemed serene and happy. 

What should he say to his father ? And to his mother? 

And what would the world say now ? And Elder Leland, 
who had been visited by a ghost and had heard voices from 
the sky ? 

So toward the red-farmhouse Harry Brown turned his horse's 
head in wonder and amazement. He thought of the awful 
Indian tales and ghost tales of old Swansea, from which the 
early settlers had come : of witches riding on broomsticks in 
the air, and " spells " and " evil eyes " and all sorts of imagi- 
nary mysteries. In this frame of mind he rode up under the 
hour-glass elm in front of the house, and his father came to 
the door. 

" Did he receive it well, sonny ? " asked Eben, with a beam- 
ing face. 

" It is gone," said Harry, with a doleful face. 

" What gone ? " 

" The grist." 

« Sho ! Where ? " 

Here Eunice's white head appeared. She threw her apron 
over it and listened anxiously. 

"It disappeared." 

" Where ? " 

" Into the air." 

"How?" 



" Boy ! " 

" There, Eben," said Eunice, " mind what I told you ! The 
universe is agin ye. You could n't get a grist to Peter Rugg's 
if you were to go yourself. 'T would be flying in the face of 
Providence. The powers are agin ye. I used to know all 
about spells and such things in old SAvansea." 



CAPTAIN KIDD'S TREASURE. 301 

"We 11 see ; we "11 see," said Eben. 

That evening- Eben shelled out two more bushels of corn. In 
the morning he brought out the old roan horse, and put a bag 
with the corn on his back. He then went to the barn and 
brought a stiff button-wood rod which he had used for various 
purposes of diseipline and correction. 

-Boy!" 

- Sir? " 

"Mount that horse." 

Harry mounted as before. 

" Go to mill ; I '11 follow." 

The pilgrimage was performed with alacrity and safety. The 
meal was carried to poor Peter Kug'g, and received with a grate- 
ful and penitent heart. Eben returned home happy; but what- 
ever became of that first bag of two bushels of corn was always 
a wonder to Harry, to Eunice, and their friends. 

Eben's expectations were realized in regard to Peter Hugg. 
The good act restored his better will and heart, and made him 
a true friend for life. Eben used to tell the story, and say, 
" Always follow your better will, and do your duty, though the 
universe be agin ye." And so I will close by saying, "The 
top of the world to ye all." 



CAPTAIN KIDD'S TPvEASURE; OR, THE MAN 
WHO SAID "SCAT!" 

" I would have been a fine lady to-day, riding in a chariot 
about Ipswich town, I would, if only Husband had been level- 
headed like me, an' had never said -Scat!' for it was just that 
drove away all our good fortune. Yes, ar-a-me ! Husband he 
just said ' Scat ! ! he did, and he drove away all our good for- 
tune, an' I never forgave him, an' I did n't give him any peace 



302 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

of his life after that, I did n't ; an' now, ar-a-me ! I 'm a poor 
lone widder livin' alone, an' too poor to hire a carriage to go to 
the funeral of my own kin. Oh, it makes my heart turn sick to 
think of what I might 'a' been if Husband had n't just said that 
one word ' Scat ! ' it does. Ar-a-me ! ar-a-me ! " 

In such words as these Goody Alder used to repeat some por- 
tion of the history of her life almost daily. Her husband, Good- 
win Alder, had been a cordwainer and digger of shell-fish ; and 
the two had lived happily together on a sandy road that wound 
around the Ipswich coast and overlooked. Cape Ann, until a 
dream of riches came into their small cottage, and, despite its 
morning-glories, the house never witnessed a day of peace after 
that. 

It was near the close of the last century when this happened, 
while yet superstition shadowed the coast towns of New Eng- 
land, and especially those around blue Cape Ann. The wonder 
tale of this period was of Captain Kidd, who was believed to 
have buried treasures along the coast. 

A whole fleet could hardly have carried the treasures that 
this degenerate son of the old Scottish minister, who " sunk his 
Bible in the sand as he sailed, as he sailed," was supposed in the 
popular imagination to have buried. The shores of Mount 
Hope Bay and Cape Ann were thought to abound . with his 
covered booty, — the spoils of the Spanish main and the English 
seas ; and the problem of how to find these treasures was often 
discussed by young and speculative minds by the great winter 
fires. 

While these stories of Kidd and his buried treasures were 
glowing in the vivid imagination of the coast people, young 
Goodwin Alder dreamed a remarkable dream three times. Had 
he dreamed it once only, it would not have disturbed his peace, 
but he dreamed it three nights ; and in the unwritten opinion of 
the times, to dream the same dream three times was a certain 
sign that what it revealed was true, and should be heeded. 



CAPTAIN KIDD'S TREASURE. 



303 



He did not speak of his dream to his busy wife on the first 
day after it had disturbed his sleep, but after the same vision 




THE PROVINCE HOl'SE. 



had come to him the second time, lie said to her at the breakfast- 
table. — 

"Goody, I dreamed a strange dream last night, and it's the 
second time I 've dreamed it. I think it is going to be a sign." 



304 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" The second time ? Why, what was it?" 

"I dreamed that I had found some of the Kidd treasure on 
Cape Ann." 

" Oh, Goodwin, an' if you should dream it again to-night, I 'm 
sure it'll be a sign. What was it? If it comes true, maybe 
I '11 be like Lady Phipps, Sir William's wife, you know ; he was 
one of the twenty or more poor children of one family up north 
in the woods, an' when he was grown up, he courted a widow, 
an' he told her that she should live in a 'fine house in Boston 
town.' An' he discovered a sunken treasure-ship in the Spanish 
main, an' they made him governor, they did ; an' she lived in 
the Province House, she did, all just as grand as the grandest of 
'em. Tell me what it was ; I can't wait a moment, I can't. It 
seems as if I should fly." 

" Well, Goody, I dreamed it was night, an' the moon was full 
an' the tide was out, an' a dark-looking man rose out of the sand 
an' came to me an' turned around an' beckoned me to follow 
him. I dreamed I went after him, an' we came to a place on 
the shingle covered with thatch. An' he said to me, ' Dig here, 
an' you mind you don't speak; don't you speak a word.' An' 
then I woke up. An' last night I dreamed that same dream 
agin." 

Goodwin that day was a very absent-minded man. He went 
to bed early in the evening, but the dream did not recur. In 
fact, he was so excited that he hardly went to sleep at all ; but 
the following night he slept soundly, and the same dream came 
to him, as it could hardly fail to do under the exciting circum- 
stances ; and as you may infer, the next morning there could 
have been few more excited people in the world than Goodwin 
and Goody Alder. 

" Husband," said Goody, " now you remember and not speak ; 
you remember ! " 

" Of course I shall. I won't speak to General Washington 
himself ; if he come a-riding upon a white horse where I was a- 



CAPTAIN KIDD'S TREASURE. 305 

digging, I would n't. Men can keep their tongues still ; they 
ain't like women." 

" Now, don't you be over-sure. If you speak, I 'm sure the 
spell will be broken, it will, an' you '11 lose the treasure. I '11 go 
with you when you go to dig. I don't dare to trust you. 
Ar-a-me ! " 

" You go with me ? No, you won't. You 'd spoil it all. 
Don't you know a woman can never hold her tongue ? If you 
were to see a sail, you would say ' Oh !' or ' Look ! ' an' if you 
were to stub your toe, you 'd cry, ' Ar-a-me ! ' or something. 
No, I '11 go alone." 

" When are you goin' ? " 

" On the full of the moon at low tide. I know the place. 
It 's the thatch patch. Don't you know, you can see it from 
the door ? " 

They went to the door. It was a summer day. The morn- 
ing-glories were in bloom, and hung drying their dew and slowly 
closing in the sun. Before them stretched the sea ; upon it 
here and there was a sail. The white sea-gulls were wheeling 
high in the air, or flapping their wings just above the waves. 

The surf, in a long curved line, was breaking in a sort of 
rhythmic music like a pendulum-beat of the sea. It was a wide 
desolation all, but the sun was so bright that it was very beauti- 
ful. The two looked across the sea meadows. The thatch 
patch was there, partly covered by the high tide of the full sea. 
Beyond was a reef of brownish-black rocks on which the waves 
were dashing. 

"You see it?" 

" Yes, yes ! I see it. Now you mind, don't you speak a word, 
whatever happens. See if you can keep your head shut just 
once in your life. What a blessin' it would be, it would, if — 
you were only dumb ! " 

The long-wished-for night came. The two saw the red moon 
rise above the far oaks of the porphyry cliffs as they looked 

20 



306 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

from the open door. The fireflies flitted around the hillsides 
and their spikes of firs, and the lights glimmered in the fishers' 
cottages along the gray ledges. 

The tide went out. Goody moved about restlessly on her 
hobnailed shoes, her kerchief pinned tightly across her breast, 
saying, " Ar-a-me ! " — a byword she had made from the sound 
of the sea. 

The big house cat lay on the braided mat before the door. 
She was fat and sleek, and well she might be, for the coast was 
full of shell-fish, and she ran after the shell-fishers like a dog, 
and was generally a welcome companion. The old clam-diggers 
fed her with broken clams while they were digging. The skip- 
pers all knew her, — - lazy, fat, purring and mewing old Tabby 
Alder. 

Half-past eleven ! Goodwin arose. He took his lantern, and 
.put a Bible in his pocket, the latter a protection, as he expressed 
it, "'gainst the sperits of the air who bode no good to men." 
At the door he took his spade, and turning to Goody, said, — 

" It 's dreadful solemn business, Goody, but I shall do it. 
Here, here 's the cat. Call her back ; don't let her follow me. 
She might mew and spoil it all." 

" Now, Goodwin, for the life of you, don't you speak a word. 
Shut your mouth ; there, keep it shut. Now, you mind ; if you 
don't, I '11 never give you any peace of your life, I won't." 

She watched him from the door as his dark figure went away 
toward the great glimmering waste of sand and sea. She heard 
the waves breaking on the long coast. It seemed the very night 
to her when evil spirits might be abroad on mischief. Then she 
stood, nervous, and staring across the waste for a time. She 
turned at last, and said : " Pussy ! pussy ! here, pussy ! " but 
pussy had disappeared. She closed the door, for the salt air was 
cool, and sat down to wonder at what the event of all these 
mysterious things was to be. I used to know her, for I once 
lived in Ipswich. 



CAPTAIN KIDD'S TREASURE. 307 

I can almost hear her tell the rest of the story now, as the 
old folks used to repeat it to me when a hoy, and act it, with 
her peculiar dialect, which was curious from the emphatic repe- 
tition of the subject and predicate at the close of some of her 
sentences, and the sea-sound, " Ar-a-me." 

" Well, I waited an hour, I did," she used to say ; " and it 
was the longest hour I ever knew, when I heard Goodwin cry. 
It pierced my heart, for I knew he had n't got the treasure, he 
had n't, but that something had got him. It made me think of 
the old Boston story of the Devil and Tom Walker, it did ; and 
my hair began to creep around on my head. Ar-a-me ! 

" I went to the door and listened. It was calm and still, it all 
was. In a minute or two, I heard the cry again; I can hear it 
now: 'Help! Help! Help! Help!' 

" I threw my apron over my head and ran over the salt 
meadows toward the sea. The tide was coming in, it was. I 
could see that, I could ; and way down in the thatch fields, I 
could just see Husband's head above the thatch. 

" Well, I flew, I just did. And when I got to the thatch 
patch, I found Goodwin almost buried in sand and water, and 
the tide was coming onto the thatch at every breaking of the 
surf. Yes, it did. Ar-a-me ! 

" ' Help ! help me out,' he said, gasping , * I 'm sinking, I 
shall drown ! ' 

" Well, you see, I 'm a strong woman, I am, if I am small. 
An' I just took his hand, and I gave a strong pull, and then 
another ; and then another, and then a wash from the sea loos- 
ened the sand, and pretty soon I pulled him out, I did, an' he 
was the most scared and discouraged-lookin' man you ever did 
see. Yes, he was. Ar-a-me ! 

" ' Where 's the treasure ?' says I. ' Where is it? ' 

" He looked kinder bewildered, he did •, and then he said, 
y Did n't I tell yer to keep that cat at home ? Why did n't yer 
do it? It is all your own fault.' 



308 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

" ' What, for massy sake, has the cat to do with it? ' says I. 

" ; She made me lose the treasure after I 'd found it.' 

» ' She did ? She did ? I don't believe it ! ' 

" ' Yes, she did ! I came to something hard as I was a- 
diggin', just as I dreamed it in my dream; an' I was diggin' 
away as fast as I could to find out what it was, when down 
came tumbling that cat into the hole, mewin' as loud as she 
could mew, an' I — I — 't was all your fault — I jest said 
" Scat ! " and that broke the spell ; and then the sand began 
to give way at the side an' under my feet, an' the water to rush 
inter the hole, an' I thought I was bein' buried alive, an' I 
begun to holler ; an' the old cat is down there now. 'T was all 
your own fault, Goody.' 

"Well, we went home. He looked sheepish enough, he did; 
an' I begun to lose my temper an' scold, I did, an' somehow, I 
never stopped scoldin' for the ten years that he lived, an' then 
he died. Ar-a-me ! 

" I never was satisfied with anything after that, I never was ! 
I had had my expectations raised so high. I had set my heart 
on a tall house in Boston town, I had, and there my husband 
was only a cordwainer an' clam-digger. He might 'a' been a 
governor, like William Phipps, if he had n't 'a' just said ' Scat ! ' 
he might. There, now ! it ought to be a warnin' to everybody 
just to keep their wits about 'em — just think of that. A-ra-me ! " 

" But did you never search for the treasure again ? " people 
used to ask. 

" Yes, that we did, of course we did. But it was quicksandy 
there in that there spot, an' — we never found the treasure, but 
we found the cat ; she was dead. Yes, she was. Ar-a-me ! 

" I was so dissatisfied that after Husband died, seem' I was n't 
Lady Phipps, nor nobody at all, that I went over to Lynn to 
see Moll Pitcher, the fortune-teller, I did, an' I told her my 
story ; and I said, ' You are a seer, you are ; and I want you 
to tell me just how I can find the riches of Cape Ann, for I 
shall never rest happy till I do.' 



A ROMANCE THAT LOST AN EMPIRE. 309 

" Oh, you should have seen her ! She just rose up so, she did ; 
and ' Goody,' said she, — ' Goody, do you think I am a fool? 
If I knew where the treasures of Cape Ann are hid, I 'd go and 
dig 'em up myself ; anybody would.' " 

Poor Goody Alder ! I always think of her whenever I see 
the little cottage of Moll Pitcher in the suburbs of Lynn, or 
gaze upon the long, low reaches of Ipswich town. The old 
dwellers on Plum Island recall the story, and tell it with that 
of Henry Main, the pirate, who is supposed to he forever trying 
to coil a rope of sand off Ipswich bar. 

Henry Main's story is not true, but this in its principal facts 
is, though poor scolded Goodwin Alder was never any nearer 
Captain Kidd's treasures than any of you, except in the creations 
of his own brain, excited by the superstitions of the times. 



A ROMANCE THAT LOST AN EMPIRE. 

In 1759 the famous expedition of General Wolfe and Admiral 
Saunders arrived in front of Quebec, which was under the 
command of the brave Montcalm. It was June. The troops 
were landed, and the city and fortress of Quebec were invested. 

The summer passed ; but the Gibraltar of the North, now 
impregnable, was like a knight clad in mail. The Lilies of 
France, in the red summer mornings and evenings, waved peace- 
fully over the Fortress of St. Louis, as though the fifty vessels 
of war, the fifteen thousand sailors, and nine thousand soldiers 
were a thousand miles away. 

September came. The English commanders had the convic- 
tion that the capture of the fortress was impossible, and the 
sailors and soldiers were losing all confidence in the success of 
the expedition. 



310 



ZIGZAG STORIES. 



One September night, beautiful as all nights of the September 
moons are on the St. Lawrence, General Wolfe and Admiral 
Saunders held a consultation on board of the flag-ship. 

" Some new plan must be adopted, or the siege abandoned," 
was in substance the conclusion of each. 







MONTCALM. 



A petty officer entered, and handed a communication to 
General Wolfe. It was marked Private and Important. 
The General opened it, and said to the Admiral, — 
" Here is a curious communication from a Captain Robert 
Stobo, of Halifax. He was once, he claims, detained at Quebec 



A ROMANCE THAT LOST AX EMPIRE. 311 

as a hostage, having been made a prisoner of war by the 
French. He has information that he deems important, which 
he wishes to communicate." 

" Where is he now? " 

" On board the vessel." 

" Let us listen to him." 

A person of fine appearance was admitted. 

He was courteously received. 

"Well, Captain, what have you to say?" asked General 
Wolfe. 

" For a number of months I was a resident of Quebec, a 
prisoner on parole. My life was a lonely one for a time, but I 
at last became acquainted with a beautiful French lady, of 
high social position, and Ave became deeply attached to each 
other. We used to meet and walk upon the Heights of 
Abraham, and she made known to me a secret path that leads 
from the Plains of Abraham to the river. It is the only path 
that can lie followed up and down the Heights. An army 
could ascend the Heights by it at night, marching in single file. 
I have come from Halifax to put you in possession of my chart 
of the Heights and of this secret path." 

General Wolfe took the chart, and with the Admiral ex- 
amined the Lovers 1 Path. 

The captain was dismissed with expressions of gratitude. 
All that night the two officers studied the defile that the beauti- 
ful French habitants had disclosed to her lover. 

" Admiral," said General Wolfe, at last, lk I am disposed to 
try it." 

It was the night of September 12, described as glorious by 
the old chroniclers. General Wolfe passed from vessel to 
vessel, and addressed his men. 

The Lovers' Path, like a picture, was impressed on his mind 
as in a dream. 

" ' The paths of glory lead but to the grave,' " 



312 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

he said, and added, " I would rather be the author of that 
one poem, Gray's Elegy, than gain the glory of defeating the 
French to-morrow." 

The oars beat the swiftly flowing tide. The Heights dark- 
ened the air above. Wolfe gazed upward. He repeated : — 

" ' The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave, 
Await alike the inevitable hour. 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.' " 

At one o'clock on the morning of the 13th, Wolfe led his 
silent army, marching in single file, up the Lovers' Path. 

The result is told in history, in pictures, and in monumental 
works of art. 

, But the path of glory brought to Wolfe his "inevitable 
hour." Leading the charge, he was three times Avounded. 

" Support me," he said. " Let them mot see me drop." 

The}^ brought him water. 

" They flee," said, the officer on whose breast he was leaning. 

" Who ? " asked the dying man. 

" The enemy." 

" God be praised, — I die happy." 

The elaborate and heroic monument to Wolfe in Westminster 
Abbey, and the tall shaft to his memory in the garden of the 
Terrace of Quebec, can hardly fail to recall Gray's pensive 
reflections in connection with the splendid achievement that 
gave to England an empire as large as Europe, and that made 
him immortal. 

Stobo was rewarded by New England with one thousand 
dollars and by honors from the Crown. But the French- 
woman's name was never known. 



A STRANGE TALE. — MONTEREY. 313 



A STRANGE TALE. — MONTEREY. 

The city of Monterey, in the State of Nuevo Leon, Mexico, 
is very beautiful in situation. The mountains lift their heads 
in fantastic forms around it ; the San Juan, a tributary of the 
Rio Grande, flows by it. Its suburbs are full of walled gardens 
and orange orchards. 

The city is white, and stands upon a plain some sixteen 
hundred feet above the sea-level. As seen from a near hill on 
which is the ruined Bishop's Palace, and one of the scenes of 
the Battle of Monterey, it recalls the old cities of the Orient. 
It is a growing city, of less than twenty thousand inhabitants ; 
it is becoming Americanized, as are all the Mexican cities near 
the American border. The battle of Monterey was fought on 
the 24th of September, 1846. The scars of the battle may yet 
be seen in the hill region crowned by the Bishop's Palace, which 
is a picturesque ruin that the traveller sees wherever he may 
be on the plain. 

It is a patriotic city. It is related that when Juarez came 
to Monterey and slew the spirit of the people, he said, "Dismiss 
the Guard, — I am protected by loyal hearts," or words with 
this meaning. 

Monterey is rich in historic tales and legendary lore. One 
of the stories well known here is worthy of art or the drama. 
It relates to two brothers from over the border. 

These two young men were greatly attached to each other, 
were patriotic after their own view of patriotism, brave, and 
chivalrous. One of them was married, and the other single. 

They became involved in a movement for the independence of 
Northern Mexico, and joined a company of revolutionary 
volunteers. The insurgents were pursued by the Mexican 



314 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

national troops, and defeated near Ensalada. They were taken 
prisoners and condemned to death. 

The Mexican commanding officer after a little time changed 
the sentence against the captives, and ordered that one in five 
should die, and that the men to be executed should be drawn 
by lot. 

The method of lot-drawing on this occasion was dramatic and 
strange. There were to be put into a dark sack as many beans, 
or frijoles, as there were prisoners. The condemned men, pro- 
bably blindfolded, were to draw each a frijol from the sack. 
But one out of five of the beans was black, and the men who 
should draw these black beans were to suffer the death penalty. 

It must have been an awful moment to the man who had 
drawn a black frijol when his bandage fell from his eyes, and 
he opened his hand and saw in it his fate. 

The two brothers were blindfolded, and drew frijolcs from 
the dark sack. The single man drew a white bean, and was 
filled with joy at his escape from death ; but his brother drew 
a black frijol, and his joy vanished at the terrible disclosure. 

His love for his brother was flamed by the misfortune. " I 
have no wife," he thought ; " he has. I have less to live for 
than he." He clasped his brother's hand, and exchanged the 
frijoles. He showed the officer the black bean that he had 
taken from his brother, and asked to die in his stead. 

He was shot. After he fell, his body was left on the ground. 
In the night he recovered consciousness, for the wound was not 
mortal. He rose up, and attempted to escape and hide in the 
mountains, but was captured, and again shot, dying the death 
of a hero, having loved his brother more than himself. 



THE GOURD HELMETS. 31* 



THE GOURD HELMETS. 

A young shipmate of mine, named Montrose Merton, once 
related to me a queer adventure which he had met with upon 
his first voyage. 

"It happened two years ago, when I was seventeen," said 
Mont. "Perhaps you may have heard of the brig 'Rainbow,' 
and how and where she was lost. I was in her at the time. 

" We had been freighting about the West Indies for nearly 
a year, going from port to port with whatever invoice could 
be picked up, till finally, at Havana, we were ordered over to 
the little Mexican town of Laguna, where we were to take in 
a cargo of logwood. 

" So we ran over toward the place, and got into the Bay of 
Campeachy ; but the brig never arrived at her port. I suppose 
it was a piece of carelessness on the captain's part; but, at all 
events, she struck on a reef, and that was the end of her. 

"After a few thumps, away went both masts over the side, 
and she was very soon full of water. We got off witli the yawl 
and long-boat, saving only our money and clothing, and the 
next day reached Laguna, where we came under the care of 
the American consul. 

" However, we were in no real distress, as all of us had some 
specie, and a very little of this would go a long way in such 
a sleepy port as that old Mexican town. 

"We, before the mast, had been permitted to buy and sell 
some little ' ventures ' at the ports the brig had visited, and I, 
for one, had nearly a hundred dollars. 

k ' The consul was a Mr. Clark, from Connecticut, where he 
had once been a school teacher. He was a fine man, and lie 
had a son named Richard, who, as it happened, was of my own 



316 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

age to a single day. That, I suppose, was what people would 
call a ' singular coincidence.' 

" Dick Clark seemed as glad to see me as if I had been his 
own brother,- though I was an entire stranger to him. He said 
I was the first American hoy he had set eyes on for a whole 
year, though he had now and then been refreshed with the sight 
of a few live Yankee men, who had come there after logwood 
in vessels flying the dear old stripes and stars. 

" We quickly struck up a warm friendship, and Dick said if 
I would remain at the place for a time, we would have some 
fine sport hunting wild animals and exploring the neighboring 
shores. 

" He showed me a dugout that he owned, — a sort of double- 
end er, about twenty feet long and four feet wide, made from 
a . single tree. Of course it was rather clumsy, as boats go ; 
but then it had been burned down, and hewn down, and 
chiselled down a great deal thinner and better than you would 
suppose it could have been. Dick had some tools, and he had 
given it the finishing touches himself. 

" It had a sail and oars and a set of paddles, and there was a 
canvas cover that could be drawn over about half the length 
of the hull, so that two or three fellows could sleep under it, 
if they should happen to be out all night. 

" The town was certainly the dullest spot of earth it was ever 
my fortune to light upon. It smelt of logwood everywhere, 
just like a dye-house. Nobody thought of dealing in anything 
else. 

" The inhabitants had more time than they knew what to do 
with, and I don't believe a single one of them was ever in a 
hurry in his life. No wonder that Dick felt lonesome, I 
thought. 

" As to myself, the case was different. Being at liberty to go 
or stay, as I pleased, I could feel quite easy and contented ; and 
so I fell in with his proposition at once. In a few days the rest 



THE GOURD HELMETS. 317 

of the ' Rainbow's ' crew went over to Havana in a Spanish brig, 
but I remained behind. 

" Dick owned a very good gun ; but, as it was the only fire- 
arm of a modern pattern that he knew of in the place, it seemed 
at first as if I should have to take up with some old Mexican 
flintlock. But, finally, I was lucky enough to get a double- 
barrelled fowling-piece from the skipper of a Dutch bark which 
was loading with logwood for Rotterdam, and on the next day 
we started out. Laguna stands on one of a chain of islands at 
the mouth of Lake Terminos, and we took an oblique course for 
the main shore, where we hoped to find some large game. Dick 
thought we should be likely to meet with tapirs, ant-eaters, sl< >tlis, 
gluttons, and perhaps a bear, besides standing a fair chance of 
stirring up a jaguar or a herd of peccaries. 

" I had seen a good many jaguars behind the bars of cages, 
but peccaries I knew nothing about, except that they were a 
sort of small swine. I found, though, that Dick had a real 
dread of them. They were worse than the jumping toothache, 
he said, and always looking for a fight. Out of a full hundred, 
you might kill all but one, yet the hundredth fellow would come 
right on just as if nothing had happened, clashing his ugly tusks 
and bristling all over like a little fury. 

"After reaching the mainland, we coasted along the shore for 
tw T o days, sometimes ranging the woods or pampas, at other 
times off on board our dugout. 

" Now and then we would come upon a camp of logwood cut- 
ters, and next there would be an unbroken forest or a wide 
plain, with no human being in sight. 

" Our object was to get as many specimens as possible of the 
skins of curious birds and animals to be carried home as trophies. 
We wanted, above all things, a jaguar skin, not only for its 
beauty, but because it could n't be had without the danger of 
risking our own skins in getting it. 

v * We killed a sloth, an armadillo, two ant-eaters, and a tapir, 



318 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

all very strange looking creatures, besides bagging two large 
monkeys and. a number of splendid parrots and cockatoos. 

" On the third day, while going very quietly through a strip 
of forest, we got a prodigious start from two ocelots that sprang 
out of a hollow tree not twenty feet from us. We shot both of 
them dead on the spot, and they were the most beautiful animals 
I ever saw. Even the African leopard is n't so handsome. 

" They measured about three feet in length, and I have the 
skin of one of them now. 

"However, that day ended our hunt and made us willing to 
go home, for it was then that the adventure happened that I 
started to tell you about. 

"Within the tropics, you know, everything of the vegetable 
kind has a rank growth, and Dick and I had several times come 
upon a species of gourd nearly as large as a peck measure. We 
'had seen, too, a number of dry ones floating upon the water 
close to the flocks of fowl. 

" Dick said he had heard that the natives, by putting the shells 
on their heads and wading up to the chin, often got right in 
among the birds, so as to catch them by the legs. 

" Here was an idea, and what fine fun it would be to act upon it ! 

" We discovered a shallow little cove by the lakeside, with 
hundreds of fowls swimming about in it, and it seemed to us 
that here was just the place for our experiment. There were a 
few gourds drifting near the flock, and this encouraged us, for 
it showed that the birds would n't take alarm at our helmets. 

" A line of reeds by the water kept us from being seen ; and 
so, leaving our dugout just without the cove, we went looking 
for gourds to fit our heads. 

"Finding two enormous ones, we made eye-holes and mouth- 
holes in them, and then jammed them over our crowns till they 
covered our faces completely ; then stripped of everything but 
our duck trousers, we stood ready for the trial. 

" But, dear me, what a spectacle we should have made if there 



THE GOURD HELMETS, 319 

had been anybody to see us ! As we stood there in the blazing 
sun, barefooted and bare-shouldered, with our heads feeling as 
big as bushel baskets, we laughed till I thought we should scare 
all the ducks out of the cove 

"We were about twenty rods from the water, and just as we 
began to move toward it, there came some queer little squeaks 
and grunts from among the trees behind us. We stopped and 
listened. 

" ' ( )ogh, oogh, oogh ! quee, quee, quee ! ' There was a rust- 
ling of grass and brushwood, and then, good gracious, if we saw- 
one ugly little snout bearing down upon us, we saw two or 
three hundred ! It was a living wave of tusks and bristles. 

" ' Peccaries, peccaries ! ' Dick yelled. ' We must run for it ! ' 

ww We still had our guns with us, intending 1 to leave them on 
the bank while we waded after the ducks ; but to have fired 
just then at that legion of black little demons would simply 
have been to waste time, and just then we needed all the time 
there was. 

" With our helmets on and our chests and shoulders bare, we 
sprang away like a couple of wild colts. What the peccaries 
thought we were with the heads we had on, I don't know. It 
was no doubt the first time they had ever seen the new kind of 
animal they were in chase of. 

"The open ground behind us was fairly alive with the savage 
little wretches ; and how we did run, while they came streaming 
after us, pulling up with all the power of their stout legs ! 

" We plunged through the line of reeds and into the water, 
wading off until it was up to our waists before turning to fire. 
We had the advantage of them now, for, although they were 
every one swimming for us, we could touch bottom, while they 
could not. 

" We gave them the contents of our four barrels, and saw 
that number of them turn keel up ; but all the others came 
straight on, and we were obliged to spring awa}- in lively style, 



320 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

wading along as fast as possible, or they would have had us 
sure enough. 

" They chased us out of the little cove and away around to 
our boat, though we reloaded and fired a number of times before 
getting there. 

" Once we crossed a deep place where we had to swim, and 
here they came within an ace of catching us, because it was 
difficult to carry our guns and make headway at the same 
time. 

" We forgot all about our gourdshell helmets, but floundered 
and splashed along, looking through the eye-holes like a couple 
of Coeur de Lion's crusaders right from Palestine. In fact, it 
was no time to think of our headgear with a whole army of pec- 
caries at our heels. 

" A dozen or two of them had got into shoal water, where 
they could touch bottom ; and when we reached the dugout they 
were almost up with us. 

" We grabbed it b}^ the gunwale ; but before the clumsy craft 
was fairly afloat, we had to spring in and defend ourselves with 
the oars. 

" The little scamps crowded alongside, squealing and snap- 
ping their jaws, till it seemed as if they would come right in 
upon us, in spite of all we could do. 

" But we managed to push the boat afloat ; and just then 
something happened that must have surprised them as much as 
it did us. 

" There was a roar and a swaying of the reeds, and, before 
we could even think, a big jaguar leaped right upon the dug- 
out's bow. He was a powerful fellow, with a great spotted 
head, and with claws that seemed to sink into the very gunwale. 

" But it was n't Dick or me that was wanted. In an instant 
he whipped up the nearest peccary from the water and was off 
with a bound. We could see the tall reeds waving, where he 
sprang through them up the bank. 



THE GOURD HELMETS. 321 

"The entire herd gave chase to him, and in three minutes 
there was n't a pig in sight. 

" We got off into deep water as soon as possible, and then 
examined our guns and ammunition. Our powder, being in 
tight flasks, was not much damaged, but the guns were dripping 
wet, and we had to let them dry in the hot sun before reload- 
ing. But, first, we took of our false heads, and it made us think 
of Ichabod Crane and the headless horseman. 

•' After the guns had become dry we loaded them and pulled 
into the cove, in order to pick up a dead pig or two. We had 
got out of the boat and were dragging one of the slain peccaries 
from among the reeds, when we heard close to us a growl that 
fairly lifted our hair. 

" Our guns were up in an instant, and the ' bang ! ' they made 
was but a single sound. Through the smoke we saw a large 
creature tip over backwards and lie with its paws in the air, 
while two smaller ones scurried away. 

" We had killed a female jaguar, and it was her cubs that had 
run off. They stopped just beyond the line of reeds, and we 
shot them both very easily. 

" It must, we thought, be a rather good day for jaguars, for it 
was plain that this one could n't be the same that had boarded 
our dugout, though she answered our purpose just as well. 

" The skins of the mother and cubs were perfect beauties, and 
we lost no time in taking them off. 

" The next day we got back to Laguna. An American ves- 
sel had arrived there in the mean time, and in her I sailed for 
home. 

" I have never seen Dick Clark since, but you may be sure 
that neither of us will ever forget the day we wore those gourd- 
shell helmets." 



21 



322 ZIGZAG STORIES. 



AN UNWELCOME SHIPMATE. 

Had the reader seen the big snake-skin which we brought 
home from South America on board the bark " Cayman," he 
would probably have wished to know how we became possessed 
of such a trophy. This I can best relate by describing our 
voyage. 

We had been lying for some weeks at Port of Spain, in the 
island of Trinidad, which is close to the South American coast, 
when our vessel was ordered to the river Orinoco, there to load 
with various products of that region. Our immediate port of 
destination was the city of Angostura, two hundred and forty 
miles from the ocean, and in the, very heart of Venezuela, so 
that we looked forward to the trip with no little interest. 

A run of a day and night from Port of Spain brought us off 
the Boca de Navios, the principal mouth of the Orinoco ; and 
then with everything set before the brisk trade wind, we began 
to stem the mighty current. 

Yet, in spite of her broad wings, the bark's progress was 
tediously slow. There was no steam-tug to give us a lift on 
our way, and, although the breeze was directly over the quarter, 
we could not make a mile an hour against the stream at the 
best ; while on many occasions, as the wind slackened, it became 
necessary to anchor in order to hold our own. In this manner 
we worked along day after day and night after night. 

But the vast river itself was magnificent. Four or five miles 
wide, and crowned on each bank with a seemingly endless 
forest, it gave us a profound conception of Nature's grandeur. 

And then how deep it was, too ! Almost like the sea we had 
left behind, so that our fellows grumbled at the prodigious 
amount of chain they had to handle in our many anchorings, 
though these were always made near one shore or the other. 



AN UNWELCOME SHIPMATE. 323 

At such times we could see troops of monkeys and flocks of 
beautiful birds among the trees ; and once we had a plain view 
of a jaguar as he made his way along the bank, occasionally 
stopping to look at us. 

The captain and mate both fired at him with their revolvers, 
but were unable to hit him, and he finally disappeared very 
leisurely in the dark woods. 

With our many delays, and our slow creeping against a cur- 
rent that was so often stronger than the wind, it took us eigh- 
teen days to accomplish the two hundred and forty miles of 
river passage ; but at last we reached Angostura, and once more 
stepped on shore. 

It required a considerable time to collect all the numerous 
articles of our cargo ; and when they had all been stowed on 
board, we could have supplied a tannery with hides, a dye-house 
with indigo, an India-rubber factory with caoutchouc, a grocery 
with cacao, or a drug-shop with sarsaparilla, ipecac, and Peru- 
vian bark ; for all these articles were down on our invoice. 

After so long a sojourn at the sultry Venezuelan town, there 
was an exhilaration in once more tumbling the furled topsails 
from the yard, and feeling that the stanch bark beneath our 
feet was at last in motion, bound for the open sea and for home. 

It would take us four or five days to get out of the Orinoco ; 
for, although the current was now in our favor, the trade wind 
was against us, so that we should have to make continual tacks 
from side to side of the river, in order to keep our sails full and 
avoid coming to a standstill. 

But we were off for the dear land of the north, and every one 
was happy. Even old Tomnry, the captain's big white cat, 
seemed to purr more affectionately than usual as he rubbed 
himself against the legs of our wide trousers and twisted his 
lithe form into all manner of graceful shapes. Tommy was a 
great favorite in both cabin and forecastle. 

We had another pet, also, — a large, gray parrot, which 



324 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

hung in a cage by the mainmast, and which had been procured, 
cage and all, of an English shop-keeper at Port of Spain. 

Poll was an everlasting talker. She would cry out, " Eight 
bells ; call the watch ; pump ship ! " as plainly as any one. 
And, although at first afraid of the cat, she had got used to 
him, and would call, " Tommy, Tommy ! Come here, old ship- 
mate ! " in the most familiar manner imaginable. , 

Sometimes Tommy would obey the summons, whereupon Poll 
would drop bits of "cracker for him, squalling in a kind of bois- 
terous delight to see him pick them up. The season of flood in 
Venezuela had commenced, and in passing down the Orinoco 
we found it much higher than while ascending it. The trees 
on its banks now rose directly out of the water, which reached 
we knew not how far back into the forest. We seemed to be 
sailing on a long lake, shut in by green walls that had no visible 
foundation. The wind was in our teeth, but, with the friendly 
current all the while sweeping us along as it crossed our keel, 
we got on swimmingly. 

But on the third day an odd accident happened. We had 
made a tack somewhat close to the shore, when, just as we were 
upon the point of going about, our rudder became wedged by a 
stick of driftwood, of which there were large quantities floating 
down the river. 

Finding the helm unmanageable, we let go an anchor in 
hopes of bringing the vessel up ; but, in spite of this, she went 
straight in among the trees, snapping off her jibboom, fore-top- 
mast, and main-top gallant-mast. 

Here was a tangle, indeed! Vines, branches, and broken 
spars were all mixed together ! 

Nevertheless, as we were still afloat, our case was by no 
means desperate. It is not unusual for the Orinoco to swell 
twenty feet above its banks, and we judged that this depth of 
water was still beneath us. 

The bark had run over her anchor, and by heaving at the 



AN UNWELCOME SHIPMATE. 82.") 

cable, as it passed under her bows and not beyond the stern, we 
could hope to move her. But an abundance of cutting and 
clearing must first be done, and, as night was at hand, it would 
be vain to think of getting out of the scrape before another day. 

Our fore-topmast, which had broken just above the cap, had 
dropped down till its lower end rested upon the deck, while the 
upper part, with all its hamper, was supported by the trees 
against which it leaned. The main-top gallant-mast hung to 
the branches by its rigging, and the jibboom lay under the bows. 
We succeeded in unbending the fore-topsail, but this was about 
all we could accomplish before dark. The sail was badly torn, 
and we piled it in a heap forward. 

Meanwhile the mosquitoes put us in a torment. Out on the 
river we had never been troubled with them, but here in the 
thicket they swarmed by millions. That night the officers 
smoked the little pests out of the cabin, and then fortified the 
entrance with netting, while we before the mast took up our 
quarters in the top, where — as mosquitoes seldom get much 
above a ship's deck — we were left in peace. 

A lantern was hung on the main-stay, and, from our position 
aloft, we were to keep a one-man watch for possible contingen- 
cies. Some of us were in the fore-top and others in the main. 
My own lookout, which was in the earl}- part of the night, 
passed without incident, and it was near daybreak before any- 
thing disturbed us, when, all at once, it came to be understood 
that some unknown creature was stirring on board the vessel. 

Instantly we were all wide awake and peering down from the 
tops with startled faces, while we hurriedly questioned each 
other as to what it was, where it was, and who had the last 
watch. The lantern did not light up the deck very well, and 
the shadows had a weird look to us. 

" I see it ! " said one of our fellows, at length, in a frightened 
undertone. "Look! There it is under the port bulwarks. 
It's a big snake. Keep still, or he'll be up here in a jiffy! " 



826 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

We could all see it now, though in the dim lantern-light its 
hideous proportions were indistinct. Sometimes, indeed, it 
seemed as if there were two snakes ; but we presently con- 
cluded that, there was only one, and he a monster. 

At intervals he would be wholly lost to sight, and again 
some portion of his horrid folds would be visible as he crept 
slowly about the deck, which was well lumbered with wreckage. 

At last he went over the bows and disappeared in the dark- 
ness, though whether he had gone down into the water or had 
got hold of a thick-leaved tree that was close to the bowsprit, 
we were unable to say. At all events, we slept no more that 
night, and were extremely glad to see the daybreak. 

In the morning the officers heard our story with great in- 
terest, shuddering to think what would have been their situa- 
tion had the monster chosen to come through the mosquito 
"netting and explore the cabin. 

It made us creep all over to recall the night's experience, and 
we determined to get the bark out of her berth that day, if work 
would accomplish it. 

We sat " Turk-fashion," on the forward part of the deck to 
eat our breakfast, while near us lay the fore-topsail in a pile, as 
it had been left the evening previous. 

The white cat, Tommy, climbed upon the heap of canvas. 
The next moment he bounded off upon the deck, and with back 
and tail bristling, whirled around to look behind him. 

At the same time there was a movement of the pile, and as 
we sprang to our feet, the head and neck of a great serpent 
shot out from the folds of the sail. 

An instant of frozen terror, and then how we tumbled over 
each other ! Some ran into the galley, and others into the 
small house on the booby-hatch. The officers were at breakfast 
in the cabin. Nobody fled aloft, — we knew better than to do 
that, — at least, nobody did so except Tommy, and he, following 
the instinct of his race, sprang into the main rigging. 



AN UNWELCOME SHIPMATE. 327 

His terrible enemy was rushing after him, and had actually 
mounted above the bulwarks, when Poll's loud screaming from 
her cage appeared to attract his attention. The poor bird was 
in great fluster. 

"Oh, what's the matter now?" she cried. 

And this query was followed by a succession of wild outcries 
that showed her to be dreadfully frightened. 

The snake had raised himself for nearly his whole length up 
the shrouds, but he now stopped, and craning his thin, tapering 
neck toward the parrot, uttered a frightful hiss. 

Pie had seen that Tommy was too nimble for him, while 
Polly's flutterings and squallings had put him in mind of other 
prey. 

Down he came from the rigging, making straight for this new 
object, when "crack, crack!" went the captain's revolver from 
the cabin door. 

He fired two shots and missed with both. Then the mate 
discharged three bullets, with no better success. 

The snake, paying not the least attention to his human ene- 
mies, struck the cage violently with his frightful jaws, knocking 
it from its place, but retaining his hold of it as it fell. 

Half a minute more, and parrot, cage and all would have been 
travelling down that living lane had not the two officers im- 
proved in their markmanship. Two of their balls just then 
struck the reptile, one in the head, the other in the neck, and 
their effect was instantaneous. 

At once disabled, the monster thrashed about in sickening 
contortions, lashing the deck fearfully, while his two assailants 
emptied the remaining chambers of their weapons with the 
steadiest nerve they could muster. 

But there was no need of more shots. The furious writhings 
became less and less, at length ceasing altogether, though the 
snaky tail showed signs of life for more than two hours. 

Then the limp, horrible body was stretched out and measured. 



828 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

We found it to be twenty-eight feet long and about twenty-two 
inches around in the largest part. The serpent was of the boa 
family, and checkered with black and yellow. 

Probably there had been two of them on board in the night, 
one crawling away as we had seen at the time, and the other 
wriggling himself into the loose pile of canvas. 

All the shots fired by the captain and mate had been discharged 
from the companion-way, with the road of retreat well open 
behind them. 

They now stripped off the mottled skin, while we sailors stood 
looking on, shuddering at the bare thought of touching the 
hideous thing. , 

We could reef topsails in the blackest squall that ever blew, 
but we wanted nothing to do with a snake. 

Pretty Poll remained unharmed, in spite of her rough usage, 
though her cage was sadly battered and bent. It was some 
hours before she got over her fright, however, and she would 
keep screaming, — 

" Throw him overboard — throw him overboard ! I 'm most 
scared to death ! " 

As for Tommy, he came down from aloft when all was over, 
but his eyes still looked big and wild, and his tail indicated an 
unsettled state of mind. 

We got the vessel out of her bad predicament before another 
night, and, anchoring in the river, proceeded to repair damages. 
After a few days our broken spars had been replaced by others, 
and the sails again bent, so that everything was ship-shape. 

Then we beat through the Boca de Navios, and three weeks 
later arrived safely at New York. 

Such is the history of the snake-skin which we brought home 
in the bark " Cayman." It was afterwards stuffed, and 3 for 
aught I know, is still on exhibition as a curiosity. 



Till: MASSACRE OF' CHICAGO. 329 



THE MASSACRE OF CHICAGO. 

After we had left the bank, the firing became general. The 
Miamis fled at the outset. Their chief rode up to the Potto- 
wattamies and said, — 

" You have deceived the Americans and us. You have done 
a bad action, and," brandishing his tomahawk, " I will be the 
first of a party of Americans to return and punish your treach- 
ery." So saying, he galloped after Iris companions, who were 
now scouring across the prairies. 

The troops behaved most gallantly. They were but a hand- 
ful, but they seemed resolved to sell their lives as dearly as pos- 
sible. Our horses pranced and bounded, and could hardly be 
restrained as the balls whistled among them. I drew off a little, 
and gazed upon my husband and father, who were yet unharmed. 
I felt that my hour was come, and endeavored to forget those I 
loved, and prepare myself for my approaching fate. 

While I was thus engaged, the surgeon, Dr. Van Voorhes, 
came up. He was badly wounded. His horse had been shot 
under him, and he had received a ball in his leg. Every muscle 
of his face was quivering with the agony of terror. He said to 
me, " Do you think they -will take our lives ? I am badly 
wounded, but I think not mortally. Perhaps we might pur- 
chase our lives by promising them a large reward. Do you 
think there is any chance?" 

"Dr. Van Voorhes," said I, "do not let us waste the few 
moments that yet remain to us in such vain hopes. Our fate is 
inevitable. In a few moments we must appear before the bar 
of God. Let us make what preparation is yet in our power." 

" Oil! I cannot die," exclaimed he, "I am not fit to die, — if 
I had but a short time to prepare — death is awful ! " 



330 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

I pointed to Ensign Ronan, who, though mortally wounded 
and nearly down, was still fighting with desperation on one 
knee. 

" Look at . that man," said I ; "at least he dies like a 
soldier." 

"Yes," replied the unfortunate man, with a convulsive gasp, 
" but he has no terrors of the future, — he is an unbeliever ! " 

At this moment a young Indian raised his tomahawk at me. 
By springing aside, I'-avoided the blow which was intended for 
my skull, but which alighted on my shoulder. I seized him 
around the neck, and while exerting my utmost efforts to get 
possession of his scalping-knif e, I was dragged from his grasp by 
another and an older Indian. 

The latter bore me struggling and resisting toward the river. 
Notwithstanding the rapidity with which I was hurried along, I 
recognized as I passed them the lifeless remains of the unfortu- 
nate surgeon. Some murderous tomahawk had stretched him 
upon the very spot where I had last seen him. 

I was immediately plunged into the water and held with a 
forcible hand, notwithstanding my resistance. I soon perceived, 
however, that the object of my captor was not to drown me, for 
he held me firmly in such a position as to place my head above 
water. This reassured me, and regarding him attentively, I 
soon recognized, in spite of the paint with which he was dis- 
guised, the Black Partridge. 

When the firing had nearly subsided, my preserver bore me 
from the water and conducted me up the sand-banks. It was a 
burning August morning, and walking through the sand in my 
drenched condition was inexpressibly painful and fatiguing. I 
stooped and took off my shoes to free them from the sand with 
which they were nearly filled, when a squaw seized and carried 
them off, and I was obliged to proceed without them. 

When we had gained the prairie, I was met by my father, 
who told me that my husband was safe and but slightly wounded. 



THE MASSACRE OF CHICAGO. 331 

They led me gently back toward the Chicago River, along the 
southern bank of which was the Pottowattamie encampment. 

At one time I was placed upon a horse without a saddle ; but 
rinding the motion insupportable, I sprang off. Supported partly 
by my kind conductor, Black Partridge, and partly 1)}- another 
Indian, Pee-so-tum, who held dangling in his hand a scalp, 
which by the black ribbon around the queue I recognized as 
that of Captain Wells, I dragged my fainting steps to one of 
the wigwams. 

The wife of Wau-bee-nee-mah, a chief from the Illinois River. 
was standing near, and seeing my exhausted condition she seized 
a kettle, dipped up some water from a stream that flowed near, 1 
threw into it some maple sugar, and stirring it up with her hand 
gave it to me to drink. This act of kindness in the midst of so 
many horrors touched me most sensibly, but my attention was 
soon diverted to other objects. 

The fort had become a scene of plunder to such as remained 
after the troops marched out. The cattle had been shot down 
as they ran at large, and lay dead or dying around. This work 
of butchery had commenced just as we were leaving the fort. I 
well remember a remark of Ensign Ronan, as the firing went on. 
" Such," turning to me, " is to be our fate, — to be shot down 
like brutes ! " 

" Well, sir," said the commanding officer, who overheard him, 
" are }'OU afraid ? " 

" No," replied the high-spirited young man, " I can march up 
to the enemy where you dare not show your face ; " and his sub- 
sequent gallant behavior showed this to be no idle boast. 

As the noise of the firing grew gradually less, and the strag- 
glers from the victorious party came dropping in, I received con- 
firmation of what my father had hurriedly communicated in our 
rencontre on the lake shore ; namely, that the whites had surren- 
dered after the loss of about two-thirds of their number. They 

1 Just by the present State Street Market. 



332 ZIGZA G STORIES. 

had stipulated, through the interpreter, Peresh Leclerc, for the 
preservation of their lives, and those of the remaining women 
and children, and for their delivery at some of the British posts, 
unless ransomed by traders in the Indian country. It appears 
that the wounded prisoners were not considered as included in 
the stipulation, and a horrible scene ensued upon their being 
brought into camp. 

An old squaw, infuriated by the loss of friends, or excited by 
the sanguinary scenes' around her, seemed possessed by a demo- 
niac ferocity. She seized a stable fork and assaulted one miser- 
able victim, who lay groaning and writhing in the agony of his 
wounds, aggravated by the scorching beams of the sun. With 
a delicacy of feeling scarcely to have been expected under such 
circumstances, Wau-bee-nee-mah stretched a mat across two 
poles, between me and this dreadful scene. I was thus spared 
in some degree a view of its horrors, although I could not 
entirely close my ears to the cries of the sufferer. The fol- 
lowing night five more of the wounded prisoners were toma- 
hawked. 

The Americans, after their first attack by the Indians, charged 
upon those who had concealed themselves in a sort of ravine, 
intervening between the sand-banks and the prairie. The latter 
gathered themselves into a body, and after some hard fighting, 
in which the number of whites had become reduced to twenty- 
eight, this little band succeeded in breaking through the enemy, 
and gaining a rising ground, not far from the Oak Woods,, 
The contest now seemed hopeless, and Lieutenant Helm sent 
Peresh Leclerc, a half-breed boy in the service of Mr. Kinzie, 
who had accompanied the detachment and fought manfully on 
their side, to propose terms of capitulation. It was stipulated 
that the lives of all the survivors should be spared, and a ran- 
som permitted as soon as practicable. 

But in the mean time a horrible scene had been enacted. One 
young savage, climbing into the baggage-wagon containing the 



THE MASSACRE OF CHICAGO. 333 

children of the white families, twelve in number, tomahawked 
the children of the entire group. This was during the engage- 
ment near the Sand-hills. When Captain Wells, who was fight- 
ing near, beheld, he exclaimed, — 

kt Is that their game, butchering the women and children? 
Then I will kill too ! " 

So saying, he turned his horse's head, and started for the 
Indian camp, near the fort, where had been left their squaws 
and children. 

Several Indians pursued him as he galloped along. He laid 
himself flat on the neck of his horse, loading and firing in that 
position, as he would occasionally turn on his pursuers. At 
length their balls took effect, killing his horse, and severely 
wounding himself. At this moment he was met by Winnemeg 
and Wau-ban-see, who endeavored to save him from the savages 
who had now overtaken him. As they supported him along, 
after having disengaged him from his horse, he received his 
death-blow from another Indian, Pee-so-tum, who stabbed him 
in the back. 

The heroic resolution of one of the soldiers' wives deserves 
to be recorded. She was a Mrs. Corbin, and had from the first 
expressed the determination never to fall into the hands of the 
savages, believing that their prisoners were always subjected to 
tortures worse than death. 

When therefore a party came upon her to make her a pris- 
oner, she fought with desperation, refusing to surrender, although 
assured, by signs, of safety and kind treatment, and literally 
suffered herself to cut to pieces rather than become their 
captive. 

There was a Sergeant Holt, who early in the engagement 
received a ball in the neck. Finding himself badly wounded 
he gave his sword to his wife, who was on horseback with him, 
telling her to defend herself. He then made for the lake, to 
keep out of the way of the balls. Mrs. Holt rode a very fine 



334 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

horse, which the Indians were desirous of possessing ; and they 
therefore attacked her, in hopes of dismounting her. 

They fought only with the butt-ends of their guns, for their 
object was not to kill her. She hacked and hewed at their 
pieces as they were thrust against her, now on this side, now 
on that. Finally she broke loose from them, and dashed out 
into the prairie. The Indians pursued her, shouting and laugh- 
ing, and now and then calling out, — 

" The brave womail ! do not hurt her ! " 

At length they overtook her again, and while she was en- 
gaged with two or three in front, one succeeded in seizing her 
by the neck behind, and dragging her, although a large and 
powerful woman, from her horse. Notwithstanding that their 
guns had been so hacked and injured, and even themselves cut 
severely, they seemed to regard her only with admiration. They 
tbok her to a trader on the Illinois River, by whom she was 
restored to her friends, after having received every kindness 
during her captivity. 

Those of the family of Mr. Kinzie who had remained in the 
boat near the mouth of the river were carefully guarded by Kee- 
po-tah and another Indian. They had seen the smoke, then the 
blaze ; and immediately after the report of the first tremendous 
discharge sounded in their ears. Then all was confusion. They 
realized nothing until they saw an Indian come towards them 
from the battle-ground, leading a horse on which sat a lady, 
apparently wounded. 

"That is Mrs. Heald," cried Mrs. Kinzie. "That Indian 
will kill her. Run, Chandonnai," to one of Mr. Kinzie's clerks, 
" take the mule that is tied there, and offer it to him to release 
her." 

Her captor by this time was in the act of disengaging her 
bonnet from her head, in order to scalp her. Chandonnai ran 
up, offered the mule as a ransom, with the promise of ten 
bottles of whiskey as soon as they should reach his village. 
The latter was a strong temptation. 



THE MASSACRE OF CHICAGO. 335 

" But," said the Indian, " she is badly wounded, — she will 
die. Will you give me the whiskey at all events ? " 

Chandonnai promised that he would, and the bargain was 
concluded. The savage placed the lady's bonnet on his own 
head, and after an ineffectual effort on the part of some squaws 
to rob her of her shoes and stockino-s, she was brought on board 
the boat, where she lay moaning with pain from the many 
bullet^wounds she had received in both arms. 

The horse she had ridden was a fine spirited animal, and, 
being desirous of jjossessing themselves of it uninjured, the 
Indians had aimed their shots so as to disable the rider without 
injuring her steed. 

She had not lain long in the boat, when a young Indian of 
savage aspect was seen approaching. A buffalo robe was hastily 
drawn over Mrs. Heald, and she was admonished to suppress 
all sound of complaint, as she valued her life. 

The heroic woman remained perfectly silent, while the savage 
drew near. He had a pistol in his hand, which he rested on the 
side of the boat, while with a fearful scowl he looked pryingly 
around. Black Jim, one of the servants, who stood in the bow 
of the boat, seized an axe that la}' near, and signed to him that 
if he shot, he would cleave his skull, telling him that the boat 
contained only the family of Shaw-nee-aw-kee. Upon this the 
Indian retired. It afterward appeared that the object of his 
search was Mr. Burnett, a trader from St. Joseph's, with whom 
he had some account to settle. 

When the boat was at length permitted to return to the man- 
sion of Mr. Kinzie, and Mrs. Heald was removed to the house, 
it became necessary to dress her wounds. 

Mr. Kinzie applied to an old chief who stood by, and who, like 
most of his tribe, possessed some skill in surgery, to extract 
a ball from the arm of the sufferer. 

" No, father," replied he, " I cannot do it, — it makes me sick 
here," placing his hand on his heart. 



336 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

Mr. Kinzie then performed the operation himself with his 
penknife. 

At their own mansion the family of Mr. Kinzie were closely 
guarded by their Indian friends, whose intention it was to carry 
them to Detroit for security. The rest of the prisoners remained 
at the wigwams of their captors. 

The following morning, the work of plunder being com- 
pleted, the Indians set fire to the fort. A very equitable dis- 
tribution of the finery appeared to have been made ; and shawls, 
ribbons, and feathers fluttered about in all directions. The 
ludicrous appearance of one young fellow who had arrayed him- 
self in a muslin gown and the bonnet of one of the ladies, would, 
under other circumstances, have afforded matter of amusement. 

Black Partridge, Wau-ban-see, and Kee-po-tah, with two other 
Indians, having established themselves in the porch of the 
building as sentinels, to protect the family from any evil the 
young men might be excited to commit, all remained tranquil 
for a short space after the conflagration. 

Very soon, however, a party of Indians from the Wabash 
made their appearance. These were, decidedly, the most hostile 
and implacable of all the tribes of the Pottowattamies. 

Being more remote, they had shared less than some of their 
brethren in the kindness of Mr. Kinzie and his family, and 
consequently their sentiments of regard for them were less 
powerful. 

Runners had been sent to the villages to apprise them of the 
intended evacuation of the post, as well as of the plan of the 
Indians to attack the troops. 

Thirsting to participate in such a scene, they hurried on ; 
and great was their mortification, on arriving at the river Aux 
Plaines, to meet with a party of their friends having with them 
their chief Nee-scot-nee-meg, badly wounded, and to learn that 
the battle was over, the spoils divided, and the scalps all 
taken. 



THE MASSACRE OF CHICAGO. 337 

On arriving at Chicago they blackened their faces, and pro- 
ceeded towards the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie. 

From his station on the piazza Black Partridge had watched 
their approach, and his fears were particularly awakened for 
the safety of Mrs. Helm (Mr. Kinzie's step-daughter), who had 
recently come to the post, and was personally unknown to the 
more remote Indians. By his advice she was made to assume 
the ordinary dress of a French woman of the country; namely, 
a short gown and petticoat, with a blue cotton handkerchief 
wrapped around her head. In this disguise she was conducted 
by Black Partridge to the house of Ouilmette, a Frenchman 
with a half-breed wife, who formed a part of the establishment 
of Mr. Kinzie, and whose dwelling was close at hand. 

It so happened that the Indians came first to this house, in 
their search for prisoners. As they approached, the inmates, 
fearful that the fair complexion and general appearance of Mrs. 
Helm might betray her for an American, raised a large feather- 
bed and placed her under the edge of it, upon the bedstead, 
with her face to the wall. Mrs. Bisson, the sister of Ouilmette's 
wife, then seated herself with her sewing upon the front of the 
bed. 

It was a hot day in August, and the feverish excitement of 
fear and agitation, together with her position, which was nearly 
suffocating, became so intolerable that Mrs. Helm at length 
entreated to be released and given up to the Indians. 

" I can but die," said she ; " let them put an end to my misery 
at once." 

Mrs. Bisson replied, "Your death would be the destruction 
of us all, for Black Partridge has resolved that if one drop of 
blood of your family is spilled, he will take the lives of all con- 
cerned in it, even his nearest friends ; and if the work of mur- 
der commences, there will be no end of it, so long as there 
remains one white person or half-breed in the country." 

This expostulation nerved Mrs. Helm with fresh resolution. 

22 



338 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

The Indians entered, and she could occasionally see them 
from her hiding-place gliding about, and stealthily inspecting 
every part of the room, though without making any ostensible 
search, until, apparently satisfied that there was no one concealed, 
they left the house. 

All this time Mrs. Bisson had kept her seat upon the side of 
the bed, calmly sorting and arranging the patchwork of the 
quilt on which she was engaged, and preserving an appearance 
of the utmost tranquillity, although she knew not but that the 
next moment she might receive a tomahawk in her brain. 

From Ouilmet'te's house the party of Indians proceeded to 
the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie. They entered the parlor, in which 
the family were assembled with their faithful protectors, and 
seated themselves upon the floor in silence. 

Black Partridge perceived from their moody and revengeful 
looks what was passing in their minds, but he dared not 
remonstrate with them. He only observed in a low tone to 
Wau-ban-see, — 

" We have endeavored to save our friends, but it is in vain, — 
nothing will save them now." 

At this moment a friendly whoop was heard from a party of 
new-comers on the opposite bank of the river. Black Partridge 
sprang to meet their leader, as the canoes in which they had 
hastily embarked touched the bank near the house. 

" Who are you ? " demanded he. 

" A man. Who are you ? " 

" A man like yourself ; but tell me tvho you are," — meaning, 
" Tell me your disposition, and which side you are for." 

" I am the Sau-ga-nash ! " 

" Then make all speed to the house, — your friend is in 
danger, and you alone can save him." 

Billy Caldwell 1 — for it was he — entered the parlor with a 

1 Billy Caldwell was a half-breed, and a chief of the nation. In his 
reply, " I am a Sau-ga-nash," or Englishman, he designed to convey, " I am 



.1 SAD STORY OF PETER THE GREAT. 339 

calm step, and without a trace of agitation in his manner. He 
deliberately took off his accoutrements, and placed them with 
his rifle behind the door, then saluted the hostile savaares. 

" How now, my friends ! A good day to you. I was told 
there were enemies here, but I am glad to find only friends. 
AVhy have you blackened your faces ? Is it that you are 
mourning for the friends you have lost in battle," purposely 
misunderstanding this token of evil designs, " or is it that you 
are fasting? If so, ask our friend here, and he will give you 
to eat. He is the Indians' friend, and never yet refused them 
what they had need of." 

Thus taken by surprise, the savages were ashamed to acknow- 
ledge their bloody purpose. They therefore said modestly that 
they came to beg of their friends some white cotton in which 
to wrap their dead, before interring them. This was given to 
them with some other presents, and they took their departure 
peaceably from the premises. 



A SAD STORY OF PETER THE GREAT. 

Peter the Great, the upbuilder of the Russian Empire, was 
born in Moscow, June 9, 1672. During his minority the grand- 
duchess Sophia, an ambitious, crafty, and withal terrible woman, 
acted as recent. She was his half-sister. He was obliged to 
rebel to depose her from the throne, a seat which she greatly 
liked ; but he at last obtained the imperial power, and shut her 
up in a convent. 

Peter was a far-seeing man ; he had some great virtues, but 
was naturally brutal, sensual, and passionate. Once, when he 

a white man." Had he said, '• I am a Pottowattamie," it would have been 
interpreted to mean, "I belong to my nation, and am prepared to go all 
lengths with them." 



340 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

was absent from the country, the Guards rebelled and joined 
a conspiracy to place Sophia again on the throne. Peter, hear- 
ing of the plot, hurried back to Moscow, crushed the rebellion, 
and caused some two thousand of the Guards to be beheaded. 

He was so enraged at this revolt that he cut off many of the 
heads of the condemned men with his own hand. At one time, 
while half intoxicated at a banquet, he ordered twenty of the 
prisoners to be brought into the hall, and caused them one by 
one to be laid upon the block for him to execute. He took a 
glass of brandy after each execution. In an hour he had cut 
off the heads of twenty men. 

Peter kept a jester to lighten his heavy spirits, and no mon- 
arch ever more needed the stimulant of cheerfulness to make 
him a merciful man. The jester's name was Balakireff. 

One day Balakireff asked permission of Peter to attach him- 
self to the Guards of the Imperial Palace. The Czar consented, 
but added, — 

" For any remissness of duty you will receive the same 
punishments as they." 

" I will do my best," said Balakireff. 

One night the Czar sent him wine from his table. He drank 
freely, and when the palace became still, fell asleep, as Peter 
supposed he would, at his post. 

The punishment of a Guard for sleeping at his post was 
death. 

Peter drew the jester's sword from its belt, and carried it 
away. 

When Balakireff awoke, he was greatly terrified at rinding 
his sword gone, for he knew his crime had been discovered. 

He had a false sword, made of wood, and he hung this by his 
side and appeared at parade the next morning. 

Peter appeared at the parade also. He presently began to 
storm about the untidy appearance of one of the men, and, 
apparently in a towering passion, exclaimed, — 



.1 SAD STORY UF PETER THE CHEAT. 341 

" Captain Balakireff, draw your sword and cut that sloven 
down." 

The poor jester put his hand on the hilt of the wooden sword. 

He looked upward reverently, as though unwilling to do so 
dreadful a deed. 

" Merciful Heaven ! " he said. " Let my sword be turned to 
wood.'''' 

He drew the sword, and gazed at it as though a miracle had 
been wrought upon it. 

The Czar fell into a fit of laughter, and Balakireff was 
allowed to escape punishment. 

What a state of society do these anecdotes reveal, when any 
one's life was at the caprice of a brutal sovereign ! 

Peter's ambition was to advance Russia in mechanical arts, 
in the industries that produce wealth, and in military and 
naval greatness. He invited to his country skilled engineers, 
architects, and artillerymen from Austria, Venice, Prussia, and 
Holland. He himself visited the countries where the arts of 
civilization were making the most rapid progress. In disguise 
he travelled over Prussia and Holland ; and at Amsterdam lie 
worked for a time as a common shipwright. He afterwards 
visited William III. of England. 

His curiosity was excessive. He wished to understand every 
art that he might transplant it in his own empire. One day, 
chancing to meet a lady on the street who had a fine watch, he 
called to her, — 

" Stop, stop, and let me see it." 

Peter had a son named Alexis, whom he expected to be his 
successor, and who had all of the bad and none of the heroic 
qualities of his father. 

The wise man in the Hebrew Scriptures said that those who 
indulge in vice shall at last be hoi den by " the cords of their 
own sins." Indulgence in vice produces habits, and these 
habits become the governing power of life. The evil-doer 
becomes bound, self-imprisoned. His will power is lost. 



342 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

We do not know of a more painful illustration of this truth 
than that furnished by Alexis. He inherited a love for sensual 
company and the intoxicating cup ; and before he reached man- 
hood he had so educated his evil passions that he came to care 
for nothing but further indulgence in vice. His excesses ruined 
his health, took away all resolution and ambition. 

The Czar, seeing him tending to ruin, resolved to bring about 
a charge in his character. He took him with him on his 
journeys to foreign capitals, and showed him the triumphs of 
art. But Alexis cared for none of these things ; while his 
father was seeking to cultivate in him a feeling of national 
pride, he was only ' looking about him slyly for some occasion 
for a debauch. 

The throne of all the Russias was less to him than the weak- 
est opportunity to indulge his depraved passions. 
' His father chose a wife for him, — a lovely Polish princess, 
— thinking this would lead to reformation. But Alexis soon 
abandoned his beautiful wife for the company of an ignorant 
slave that he had purchased, named Afrosinia. The princess 
lived alone, in utter neglect, while Alexis was drinking and 
carousing with Afrosinia and his companions in vice. She 
died at last of a broken heart. 

Peter was in despair. 

He said to Alexis, — 

" My reproofs have been fruitless. I have only lost my time 
and beaten the air. You do not so much as try to grow better. 
I will give you one trial more: if you do not improve your 
conduct, I will cut you off from the succession to the throne." 

Alexis cared little for thrones or crowns. He answered, — 

" If it is your majesty's pleasure to deprive me of the crown 
of Russia, your will be done. I even request it, as I do not 
think myself tit for the government. My memory is weakened. 
My mind and body are much decayed by the distempers to 
which I have been subject." 



A SAD STORY OF PETER THE GREAT. 343 

But although Alexis knew his vices were hurrying him to 
ruin, he did not seek to check their force. He resolved to 
follow them as long as he could, and then retire from the si- lit 
of the world to a convent. 

There was a handsome peasant girl in Livonia by the name 
of Martha Rabe. She was left an orphan early, and was cared 
for lyy the parish clergyman. 

There was a pie-boy in Moscow by the name of Alexander. 
In order to attract customers he used to sing songs. One day 
Peter heard him singing. He called him to him, and asked 
him how much he would take for the cakes, pies, and basket 

" I will sell you the cakes and pies, but the basket is not my 
own. I must return it to its owner. Still, your majesty can 
command me to give it up." 

Peter was pleased with the answer, took the boy into his 
service, and at last made him Prince Menzikoff. Thus began 
a great and powerful Russian family. 

Prince Menzikoff took Martha Rabe into his service. The 
Czar chanced to see her and was enamoured of her. lie at last 
married her, and she became Catherine I. of Russia. A son was 
born of this union; and Peter determined that this son. now 
that Alexis had proved himself utterly unworthy, should become 
his successor, unless Alexis would at once reform. 

These facts of history read more like fiction than many won- 
der tales do. But we have now to give you the picture of the 
end of poor Alexis. 

Peter wrote to him : — 

"Either change your conduct, and labor to make yourself 
worthy of the succession, or else take the monastic vow." 

Alexis answered : — 

" I shall enter upon a monastic life." 

On receiving this answer Peter resolved to visit him, and try 
once more to awaken his resolution and self-respect. 

When Alexis heard he was coming, he took to his bed and 



344 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

pretended to be sick. He received his father in this way. Soon 
after the Czar had departed lie was found carousing with his 
profligate associates. 

The Czar went to Copenhagen. During his absence Alexis, 
taking with him his favorite slave, Afrosinia, fled to Vienna. 
Peter compelled the Austrian emperor to send him back; he 
gave him over to a council of state for trial ; the council con- 
demned him to death as a traitor, and the Czar was not unwill- 
ing the sentence should be executed. 

The day of execution was at hand. Alexis trembled at the 
prospect of death. The past was a long career of shame ; the 
future was dark, and the manner of the exchange of worlds to be 
terrible. His fears wrought upon him until he fell down in an 
apoplectic fit. 

The Czar was sent for; he entered the room, and Alexis 
knew him. The latter began to weep. 

" I have sinned against God and man," he said. " I hope I 
shall not live. I am unworthy to live." 

He soon sank into the sleep of death. The Czar and Czarina 
attended the funeral ; and a sermon was preached on the occa- 
sion from the text, " O Absalom, my son ! my son Absalom ! " 

At the death-bed of Alexis even Peter was seen to weep. 
They were hopeless tears. Well would it have been if the 
father had set for his son a better example in his youth, for the 
faults of the son were those of the father, except that the one 
had a fiery ambition, and the other lacked all heroic feeling. It 
was a case of evil producing its own fruit. 



OLD ALI BEDAIR'S STORY OF MARATHON. 

Thought has wings ; it can go back to the past. Let us fly 
back over the events of thousands of years, to the Athens of the 
philosophers, poets, and heroes. 



OLD AU BEDAIR'S STORY OF MARATHON. 345 

What is the scene ? The city is white with temples. Over 
all rises a hill, with temples, — a mountain of marble so bright 
that it dazzles the eye. 

There are palaces, gardens, statues everywhere. 

The city is a camp now. There are armed men hurrying to 
and fro, and sentinels in bright armor. Anxiety is in every 
face. 

It is not like a camp of to-day ; it is even less savage, and 
more splendid and poetic. 

Trumpets sound; the soldiers are putting on their armor; 
grooms are leading out restive horses ; captains and generals are 
shouting their commands. 

Everywhere are tents. Some of these are marked by ensigns ; 
and in them men of noble stature are putting on their breast- 
plates, helmets, and swords. The armor is of polished brass. 
The heroes come out and stand in the doors of their tents, glit- 
tering in the sun, and seeming, indeed, more like gods than 
men. A great shout goes up, — 

- Miltiades ! " 

The soldiers are armed with spears. These are very heavy, 
and some twelve feet long. 

The trumpets sound again. The chiefs take their shields of 
brass. 

The common soldiers form ; they have shields of leather, and 
are armed with spears. 

It is a glorious morning; the mountain peaks glow in the 
sum The people of the city are in the streets ; there is agitation 
everywhere. 

"To-day will begin another siege of Troy," said one of the 
old heroes. "The days of Hector and Priam have returned 
again." 

" The sea is white with sails," said another. " So say the 
messengers. Such an army never before darkened the shores of 
Attica." 



346 ZIGZA G STORIES. 

" He has landed, — the Great King," passed from lip to lip. 

« Where ? " 

" At Marathon." 

Trumpets, glittering chiefs, and a hurrying army. Solemn 
and grand is the march from Athens to Marathon. Wives, 
children, and relatives view, with tears, the departing arm}-. 

" They will never return again," passed from lip to lip. 
■" What are they to the hosts of the King of Persia, — the king 
of all the earth?" * 

"Battles are won by valor, not numbers," said the sages. 
" They will come back again, and bring joy to the temples of the 
gods and heroes." 

The gay plumes and glittering chiefs disappeared from view. 
The trumpets became only faint echoes from the hills. Prayers 
and offerings filled the temples of the gods. 

'" If we are defeated, Athens is lost," was repeated everywhere. 

Women Availed in the streets, — 

" O Athens, Athens, thy life is in the heroes ; thy hope is in 
the strength of their spears. May the gods fight with the 
heroes to-day, O Athens, Athens ! " 

The little army of Greeks occupy the heights in sight of the 
sea. There on the calm blue waves floated the armaments of 
Persia, that had come to overwhelm Athens and the free States 
of Greece. Behind were the green hills and the marble city. 

The Greek army is small. There is no grand array of cav- 
alry, no sweeping curve of glittering chariots and charioteers. 
It is men who are to fight to-day. The period of spectacular 
armies has not yet come. 

The Persian army is drawn up in battle array along the 
shore. It is vast and splendid, and behind it is the fleet. It is 
composed not only of Persians, but of warriors from the many 
nations over whom Persia bears sway. Its chiefs are confident 
of victory. The Persian king believes that Athens is already 
within his power. 



OLD ALI BEDAIR'S STORY OF MARATHON. 347 

The army is bright with champions in armor, with chariots 
and charioteers. The soldiers are armed with javelins. They 
have shields of immense surface, some of them so large as to 
cover the whole body. 

The Persian army are spread out, and fill a great field. The 
Greeks are drawn into solid compact columns. The one army 
seems vastly larger than it is ; the other much smaller. 

The Persians have drawn np a large part of their fleet to the 
shore. They will need it there in case of retreat. Yet they do 
not dream of disaster. What can the little Greek army of in- 
fantry on the heights do against all this armament of champions, 
of cavalry, of chariots, and ships? The Persians are a hundred 
thousand strong ; the Greeks but ten thousand. 

There are solemn ceremonies in the Greek camp. The shout 
goes up : — 

•• Miltiades ! Athens ! " 

The Greek orators address the soldiers. 

" Miltiades ! " 

An altar smokes, and a sacrifice is performed. 

" Athens ! " 

A song arises, — a song to the gods for the liberties of Greece. 
All is ready now for the army to descend upon the plain. The 
march begins ; the soldiers cheering their hero, — 

" Miltiades ! " 

Like the sweep of an eagle the Greek army rushes down upon 
the Persian host, shouting the names of gods and heroes. It is 
compact, resolute, desperate, A Greek to-day must be equal to 
ten Persians. 

The Greeks run upon the scattered army of the Persians, 
uttering fierce cries. The Persians are thrown into a panic. 

The Persians move backward towards the sea. The Greeks 
deal death and destruction everywhere. The Persians fly 
towards their ships. Six thousand are slain, wdiile only alio at 
two hundred of the victorious Greeks fall. 



348 ZIGZA G ■ STORIES. 

Greece is Victorious. Messengers fly back to Athens. 
Women and children rejoice. There are thanksgivings in the 
temples of the gods. Athens has withstood Asia. Greece is 
free. 

Marathon is thenceforth to be the watchword of heroes. 

" The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow, 
The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear; 
Mountains above, earth's, ocean's, plain below; 
Death in the front, destruction in the rear." 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE AND HIS SHIP OF GOLD. 

Sir Francis Drake once lived on a beautiful estate upon 
the Tay, but he was born upon the Tavy. His father was poor, 
and had twelve children, and he hardly could have believed, had 
an astrologer told him so, that any one of his twelve children 
would ever become a knight. Young Francis' life was passed 
among the sailors of the seaport towns, like that of any common 
sailor-boy. But he was what would be called a bright boy, and 
he found a warm friend in the owner of a vessel ; and when this 
friend died, he left to him his vessel, and the young man's for- 
tune began with the gift. 

While coasting on the shores of England he chanced to hear 
of the wonderful exploits of Hawkins in the New World. 
Francis seems to have been all ears and imagination, and to 
have had perfect confidence that he could do what any one else 
had done. Boys who reap golden fortunes commonly have 
golden dreams, and with it a strong will to turn their imagin- 
ings into solid events. He resolved to go to Plymouth, and to 
join one of the expeditions of Hawkins to the Spanish Main. 
He did so, and failed, returning poorer than when he started. 
But his imagination and will did not fail ; and as long as these 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE AND HIS SHIP OF GOLD. 349 

last there is a hope of the success of any man. He fitted out a 
ship of his own ; and as England was hostile to Spain at this 
time, he began to plunder the Spanish Main. A sea-robber or a 
pirate lie would be called to-day; but robbing the seas of hostile 
nations was not so badly regarded at that time, lie became 
such a successful sea-robber that he was made an admiral, or 
vice-admiral, with great powers. Queen Elizabeth once ban- 
queted on board one of his ships, and made him a knight, as you 
have seen in the pictures of old histories. You well know how 
he defeated the Invincible Armada of Spain. He was made a 
member of Parliament, and built a beautiful estate, on which he 
lavished the spoils of Peru and the treasures of the Indies. 

But my story does not so much concern the wonderful career 
of the knight, as an incident of it that shows how greedy is poor 
human nature, and how little people understand the selfishness 
there is in the human heart. 

The New World was at this time regarded as one vast store- 
house of gold and gems, and the return of a ship from these rich 
regions was an event that occasioned the greatest excitement 
in the port to which she came. The whole country turned out 
at such times to see her enter the harbor. Men went away poor, 
and returned in ships full of riches. As the spoiling of Peru had 
enriched Spain, so the spoiling of the Spanish Main in turn en- 
riched England. The story of the Incas and their wealth had filled 
all Europe ; and though the golden empires of the Incas no longer 
existed, people still regarded South America and the islands of 
the Spanish Main as places of mountains of mines and valleys of 
treasures. To them the very name of America meant gold. 
Sir Francis was the discoverer of California. 1 and the first to 
find gold there. He would have found gold there or anywhere, 
had there been any to find, as you may well believe. To him 
gold was the world, and few men ever gained a larger share ; 
and he was the first to sail around the golden world and to find 
out how great and rich it was. 

1 It had been visited before by an adventurer at the time of Cortez. 



350 ZIGZA G STORIES. 

Among the great conquests of Sir Francis Drake on the 
Spanish Main was the surprise and capture of Nombre de Dios, 
near the isthmus of Darien, a town rich with treasures, which 
he plundered, loading his ship with spoils. After this exploit 
he crossed the isthmus and saw the Pacific, and then prepared to 
return to England with his treasures, expecting to reach the 
port of Plymouth late in the summer. 

It was August 9, 1573. The good people of Plymouth had 
made their way to church, and many of them had become drowsy 
under the sermon in the sultry air. The minister was giving 
them a long discourse, possibly on selfishness and the evil of 
laying up treasures on earth and conforming to the world. The 
great sea stretched away from the mouth of the Plym, a gentle 
breeze perhaps breaking the languid air. Suddenly, amid these 
tranquil surroundings, a British flag was seen rising above the 
sea. The church clerk saw it first, and was startled, and grew 
worldly-minded, and whispered his discovery to the beadle. 

" I will slip out and see," said the beadle. And he quietly 
vanished, saying as he went, " I will return in a few minutes." 

But the beadle did not return. 

The flag rose higher, and came more distinctly into view- 
The clerk whispered to one of the vestrymen, " I think that 
there is a ship coming into port." 

"I will slip out and see," said the vestryman. And he too 
vanished, saying, " I will be back soon." 

But he did not come back. 

The other vestryman was partly asleep, when the clerk 
touched him. 

" There is a ship coming into port," said the clerk. 

"What of that?" whispered the vestryman, drowsily. 

" It may be laden with gold — from the Americas." 

"Gold! gold! Where's my hat?" And he too vanished, 
promising to be back soon. 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE AND HIS SHIP OF GOLD. 351 

The boys heard the whispered word " gold," and gazed from 
the open window toward the sea. "A ship of gold, 1 ' said one. 
In a moment he was gone, and all the others followed him. 

The good old rector became disturbed, and he may be sup- 
posed to have grown very emphatic at this point against 
worldliness. 

" A ship of gold ! " whispered one to another. 

" A ship of gold ! " it ran through the church. 

" Sir Francis Drake and a ship of gold," was the low-voiced 
murmur. 

As often as the good rector bent down his head to quote the 
Scriptures, one after another of the men slipped out of the door. 
The women followed ; for when did there ever appear a sight of 
good fortune tliat the women did not follow the men to see it? 

The old rector wondered that every time he raised his eyes 
from the good Book his congregation should look so thinned. 
Where had they gone ? What had happened ? 

At last, after scrutinizing a very hard passage, he raised his 
head and found the church empty, — all except one old man 
who was blind, and one old man who was deaf, and one old 
sailor who was fast asleep. 

" Where is my congregation gone ? " exclaimed the rector. 
" What have they done ? What has come to pass ? " 

" I heard something said of a ship of gold," said the blind 
man. "Where is the door?" And he too felt his way toward 
the open street, and tried to follow the crowd. 

The good rector was now left to preach to the deaf man and 
the sleeping sailor. But the deaf man could see. The congre- 
gation had gone, and not for nothing, he well knew. There 
must have been something wonderfully powerful to cause them 
to leave, — something to be gained somehow, he reasoned. 

" I cannot hear, anyhow," he said to the parson ; " so I will 
go and see what has happened." 

The old rector went on with his discourse. 



352 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

Presently the sailor awoke, and found the church empty. He 
stared about him, wondering if he had lost his senses. " What 
has happened?" said he. 

" Gold," answered the parson. 

"Gold! Where? where?" 

" They are crying in the streets, ' A ship of gold ! a ship of 
gold ! ' Do you not hear them ? " 

" A ship of gold, and you preachin' about the old patriarchs ! 
Why did you not wake me up before ? " 

The sailor made a few strides, and the church was indeed 
empty. 

" It is evident that it is the will of the Lord that I should go 
too," said the rector. " The empty benches do not need a 
preacher." So the good rector took off his gown and followed 
his flock to the wharves, and looked out on the summer sea. 
And the ship of gold came slowly in, and the people hailed the 
returning adventurer. 

That night the pastor and his people had sufficient relief from 
the hot day's excitement to think. They consulted together, 
and agreed that a Sunday had been lost, and that it was a great 
mystery how there should be so much worldliness in the world. 

For many years the little port of Plymouth was wont to recall 
the lost Sunday of Francis Drake and his Ship of Gold. 



THE GOLDEN SHIP, AND THE FAIR BRICK 
HOUSE IN GREEN LANE, BOSTON. 

I once heard Charlie Noble say that it is will that makes a 
fortune, and genius that finds gold ; and that a boy can become 
anything that he chooses. This is partly true. New England 
has had few romances. The strangest events that ever happened 
to any one man in colonial times in New England are those I 



THE GOLDEN SHIP AND THE FAIR BRICK HOUSE 353 

am about to relate, and will seem to illustrate and confirm 
Charlie's hopeful and helpful, but somewhat too promising 
theory. 

In the middle of the seventeenth century there lived at Wool- 
wich, in the wilderness of Maine, a family consisting of a man, 
his wife, and twenty-six children. This is not a fairy story. 

The family was poor. The children grew up in ignorance. 
What could a boy out of such a family and such a place ever 
expect to become ? 

One of the boys was named William. He was put to tending 
sheep, and his youth was spent largely in the pastures. 

While thus engaged, the beautiful things of nature — the for- 
ests, the springtime, the moon and stars at night — all impressed 
him with the thought that this was a world of many sides, re- 
sources, and opportunities, and that there might be some good 
fortune in the world for him. He became restless. He was 
ambitious to learn to read and write. 

He bound himself to a ship-carpenter at the age of eighteen, 
and learned of his employer to read and write. He found out 
from his books that his impression in the pastures was right, 
that the world is wide and full of great opportunities. 

In 1673 he came to Boston. He there met a rich lady much 
older than himself, who took a kindly interest in him, and to 
whom he gave his affections. Here was an opportunity to 
secure a good-hearted wife and a fortune at the starting-point, 
and the young sheep-tender improved his opportunity. 

His wife intrusted him with her means ; he went into business, 
and failed, or at least lost all he had, and became as poor as he 
had been in Maine. 

"Never mind, never mind."' said he to his wife ; "one day I 
will have a fortune of my own, and then I will make up for 
all, and I will build you a fair brick house in Green Lane in 
Boston." 

In 1684 this restless young man heard of a Spanish ship that 

23 



354 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

had been lost near the Bahama Islands, and which had contained 
a large amount of gold and silver. He began to dream of golden 
ships lying at the bottom of the sea, and to make plans for the 
recovery of this particular one ; and he hoped to build out of the 
treasure a fair brick house for his wife, in Green Lane, Boston. 

He went to England, full of golden visions. He procured a 
ship, and went to Bermuda ; but he failed to secure the sunken 
treasure, and returned poor; and Mrs. Phipps must have felt 
that her prospect of living in a fair brick house was unpromising 
indeed. 

But William still believed in himself. He had chanced, as it 
would seem, to hear of another Spanish treasure-ship, or galleon, 
that had been cast away near Porto de la Plata. This ship had 
been freighted with immense riches, and had lain under the 
waves for fifty years. 

William dreamed again. He did not let any feeling of self- 
depreciation stand in the way of the fulfilment of his plans, and 
he did not go to idlers with his story, but went boldly to King 
James, who at that time had great need of money. The king 
listened to his glowing scheme, and gave him a vessel called the 
" Rose Algier " to make the attempt to recover the ship of gold. 

The golden dreams of one affect others, and the crew of the 
" Rose Algier " began to dream. They thought that there was 
a yet shorter way to fortune than searching for sunken ships. 
It was to capture such ships as they met on the sea. The men 
advised William to become a pirate. 

William would not listen to their proposal. He had an honest 
heart. The crew mutinied and overcame him ; but the ship at 
last sprung a leak, and he was returned to England, with no 
nearer prospect of the fair brick house in Green Lane than 
before. 

But he did not lose faith in himself even then. On his last 
voyage he had met with a Spaniard, an old man, who recalled 
the place where the Spanish ship had been wrecked. William 



THE GOLDEN SHIP AND THE FAIR BRICK HOUSE. 355 

again went to the king, asked for another vessel, but was 
refused. 

A vessel for the purpose was, however, furnished him by the 
Duke of Albemarle, who had given an itching ear to William's 
dreams and schemes. William again sailed from England, and 
arrived at Porto de la Plata, still thinking, I have no doubt, of 
the promise he had made to his good wife after losing her for- 
tune, of the fair brick house in Green Lane. 

Guided by the directions given by the aged Spaniard, Wil- 
liam proceeded to the foaming reef in a boat, taking with him 
some expert Indian clivers. The latter examined the sea-bottom 
about the reef, but discovered nothing ; and doubt and disap- 
pointment began to enter our adventurer's heart at last. 

The water near the reef was transparent, and William could 
see the rocks beneath. Looking down into one of the deep 
crevices of the rocks where the surface was calm, he saw a 
curious sea-plant, and he said to one of the Indian divers, — 

" Go down and bring it up." 

The diver plunged. When he came up, he appeared greatly 
excited. 

" What have you found, — gold ? " 

" No. There are cannon sunken among the rocks." 

Cannon ! William's heart leaped. He knew that the guns 
were those of the old Spanish ship. 

The English crew danced about the deck at the discovery. 

"Down ! " said Captain William again to the diver. 

Down went all of the divers. They were gone long. They 
were hunting among the cannon and the old ship's relics. They 
came up. One of them had a great lump of ore. It proved to 
be silver, and worth a thousand dollars. 

" Thanks be to God ! " said Captain William. " Our fortunes 
are now made ! " He doubtless thought of his good wife, and 
wondered what she would say. 

The iron hooks and rakes were put to work. All of the metal 



356 ZIGZAG STORIES. 

and treasure that had formed a part of the galleon and her 
cargo were brought up. There were bags of gold and silver, 
plate and jewels of old Spanish grandees, sacks of coin, that 
broke open upon the deck, and caused the English sailors to 
shout with delight and to leap about like men demented. In 
fact, one of the sailors lost his reason, and ever after chatted 
like an idiot about sunken ships and bags of gold. 

The value of the rescued treasure was about 12,000,000. 
Captain William returned it all honestly to the duke, and the 
latter gave him, as a reward, a fortune amounting to £16,000, 
or $80,000. 

The king was' so much pleased with his perseverance and 
success that he made him a knight. 

He was Sir William Phipps now, and as such was happy to 
share his good fortune with his lady, who had never dreamed of 
so much riches and honor. The Duke of Albermarle sent to 
Mrs. Phipps a magnificent golden cup ; and Sir William, as 
soon as he was able, on returning to America, built for her a 
fair brick house, in Green Lane, or elsewhere in Boston. 

His career was like one of the heroes of the Arabian Nights. 
The French held Canada, and the French colonies were hostile 
and dangerous to those of New England. One of the nearest 
and most interesting of these colonies was Acadia, which has 
since figured in romance and poetry. Sir William resolved on 
making an expedition, in the interest of England, to conquer 
and render powerless this colony; and he hoped also to add 
to his riches and fame. He was successful ; and when he 
returned to Boston, there was no man in the colony more 
distinguished than Sir William Phipps. 

But his greatest honor was yet to come. William and Maiy 
came to the English throne. England was still hostile to France 
and her colonies ; and when it fell to the new king to appoint a 
governor for Massachusetts, whom should he commission but the 
super-serviceable hero of Acadia, Sir William Phipps ? 



THE GOLDEN SHIP AND THE FAIR BRICK HOUSE. 357 

So in the old Province House Sir William sat down in 
knee-breeches, and ruffles, and waistcoat bedizened with o-o] ( l 
gorgeous as one of the old Spanish grandees whose treasure 
he had gained ; and by him sat Lady Phipps, as resplendent as 
a court duchess, and very proud of her husband. 

Sheeptender Phipps, Carpenter Phipps, Captain Phipps, Sir 
William Phipps, Governor Phipps, General Phipps, died sud- 
denly, in England, at the age of forty-four or five. 

Sir William was not able to accomplish all that he wished ; 
he was once ambitious to capture the Fortress of Quebec, and 
attempted it, but had to retire. Still I cannot say what he 
might have done had he persevered. 



THE END. 



M 



**■■: 









m 



f Ja 









ifl 



A 






1 



4-. 












4 ?% 












$MS 



-v* 



i**-.- 












&* 

><** £ 


















'* 

1 

■ 1 

re 

3 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS a 



029 726 031 5, 



